The Good, the Bad, and the Dirty
by danecross
Summary: Mary has returned to her boys determined to pick up her role as a mother to teach them what they missed. In classic Winchester Family tradition family issues take center stage as Mary forces Dean and Sam to address their issues. A mix of fun and heartache that I wish the show would explore.
1. Chapter 1

1\. "Truth is that it was always going to end…" -Panic! At the Disco

Dean blinked into awareness. He lay still, staring at the cement ceiling of his room in the Men of Letter's bunker waiting to recognize what had pulled him awake. The whine of the water pipes indicated a shower was on in the bathroom. He pulled his phone from the small table beside his bed. 7:43 – too early for Sammy to naturally be up and about. Dean rolled up off the mattress, growling a warning to suck it up at the bruised ribs that protested. He toed on a pair of worn grey slippers that still reeked of Good Will and shuffled toward the door. Reaching for the door knob he got a wiff that set him back a step. Grimacing in anticipation of a second assault, Dean forced his nose into his shoulder. God Damn! Quickly he shed the shirt and flung it toward a pile of laundry waiting for attention. He pulled his towel off the back of a chair, grabbed his toothbrush, and set off to investigate the shower.

Dean caught the bathroom door before the hinge squawked a warning of his entry. An evil idea curled his lip. If he could hardly stomach his own arm pit, could he really pass up this opportunity to see how quickly his brother could break a head lock? He struggled desperately to hold back the sick glee the thought ignited. Silently Dean crept forward. He shifted to set his towel and toothbrush on a sink and caught his reflection in the mirror. Crap! Streaks of deep purple wrapped from his chest around to his back. He had been playing hide and seek with Sam on the topic for the past three days. As Dean stood debating whether a little fun was worth admitting to Sam that he had taken damage. A soft feminine voice began to hum a vaguely familiar tune from a golden oldies channel. Dean's eyes went wide. Sam had a girl in the bunker?

The embarrassment of catching Sam in a compromised position wasn't tempting enough to OUT the bruising he was sporting. Quietly Dean retreated. There were other ways to mess with Sam.

Dean was a step from ducking back into his room when Sam's sleepy voice caught him by suprise. "Mom's here. Call out before you go barging into the bathroom, because seeing your parents naked is one of those unseeable events." The instant look of horror, like Dean could literally have seen that happening was comical. But then came what Sam had been waiting for, the dawning sunshine effect their mother's presence had on Dean. The light in his brother's eyes made Sam's effort to drag himself out of bed this early - worth it. Sam rubbed his palm against the bridge of his cheek trying to inspire a little more alertness. It had been two am when Mary had knocked against the door. Too late for an extended reunion but anticipating this moment with Dean had kept sleep away. Sam imagined it was something like what normal kids felt the night before Christmas. Dean gave him a nod in acknowledgment, but Sam caught the private smile that lit his brother's face as Dean moved into his room. Sam couldn't help responding with a smile of his own as. He savored the moment, watching the flex of light and dark across his brother's back. Too distracted by the good vibes, to register the anamoly of dark bruising.

"Dean!" Sam swore. He startled from his slouch against the wall but Dean's door slammed shut. Damn it, Sam huffed. He had been trying for days to figure out what Dean had been hiding and the arrival of their mother had completely distracted him. He knew better, he had been there when the ghost flung Dean from the room. Begrudgingly, he admitted that if Dean hadn't keeled over yet, he would probably live without intervention. Sam shook his head with a mix of fond infuriation. Maybe with Mary back, things would change. Dean wouldn't get away with quite as much. The smile crept back to Sam's face. It felt good not to be motherless kids any longer.

SNSNSN

Mary ran a hand over her hair and checked for the third time that all her shirt buttons were paired to the correct button holes. She was as pressed and clean as she could manage and there didn't seem to be any excuse left to put off confronting her grown sons. Sons she still felt motherly responsibility for even though they were adult strangers. Would they love her? Would she love them? Wasn't it just yesterday that 38 weeks of colicky baby sleep deprivation had left her pandering for a smile from a four year old with a few rewarmed dino shaped chicken pieces? And it had worked, she could still remember the feel of Dean's little arms wrapped around her legs and his adorable dimpled smile shining warmer than the sun.

"Jesus John, what am I doing?" she whispered. John was gone. She knew because she had damn well looked. But after her own surprising return from the grave she couldn't discount the feeling that maybe he was out there, listening, working towards his own return to duty. The thought gave her strength anyway. It was the reason she had returned even though every second with Sam and Dean dug painfully at her with what she had missed. A mother in the grocery line had caught Mary watching some kids playing with the gum display. The woman had smiled like she shared Mary's pain and said "They grow up so fast, don't they?" Mary had dropped everything and bolted; apples and spilled milk scattered in her wake. It was the only way she had avoided breaking the hapless woman's nose.

Making a clean break and starting over was more Mary's style, it's what she had done after losing her parents. It's what she had started to do until she was struck numb with this image of John walking in and catching her playing house with someone else. That's about the one thing her marine wouldn't be able to forgive her for. So she had packed it in, and returned to the Men of Letter's bunker half hoping her boys wouldn't be home.

Mary stepped into the library and two sets of green put her center stage. Damn it! How the hell did a six foot adult have the same eyes as her beloved four year old? She had to drop her eyes quickly as she swallowed the weight threatening to strangle her. "Coffee?" Sam asked hopefully. Mary nodded gratefully and slid into a chair beside Dean. She could feel Dean's leg bouncing and reached a hand to his thigh without thinking. "Don't fidget," she commanded softly before releasing Dean to take the coffee cup from Sam. It wasn't until she saw Sam's look of awe that she realized what she had done. She glanced back at Dean. He was still, a silly bemused look on his face. She turned back to her coffee cup. Ok, maybe she could do this.

Taking a deep breath, she launched into a speech she had been working over the long hours driving to the bunker. "So, ah… it's probably going to take some getting used to… ah… suddenly having a mother." She brought the coffee cup up in front of her in defence. "So ah… they say you don't get to choose your family, which means… you are sort of stuck with me." She finished with a one shoulder shrug. "Since… well, maybe the best place to start is to… get to know you boys." She rubbed at a coffee ring on the table. "I sort of need to know what's what if I'm going to be any good at this." Sam smiled encouragingly at her. She still couldn't bring herself to look Dean in the face, but he hadn't retreated. He seemed to give off heat like a radiator, she could feel his nearness.

Sam nodded; he gave a soft hum thinking hard about what he wanted his mother to know about himself. Everything, of course… he loved animals… he had always wanted a dog… But that lead to thoughts of the two dogs he had had which were both moments that he had unerringly cut and run on Dean… So maybe don't go there yet, he counseled. Um, he loved to read… so maybe favorite book? Jezz, there were so many to choose from. Ender's game… nah, too sci fi that would make him seem like a geek, again not the first impression he wanted to give. What about a classic like Frankenstein? Nah, she already knows that he's a hunter; he doesn't want her to think the supernatural is all that he does.

The silence stretched until Dean finally broke it with a snort of enjoyment. "Don't strain anything, Sammy." Dean teased. Sam shot his brother a dirty look that did nothing to stop Dean from continuing. "Don't let the silence fool you, this kid loves to talk." Dean pointed at Sam, "Sammy's got plenty to brag about. The brainiac got a damn full ride to Stanford and he's fast enough to take a vamp's head." Dean shook his head playfully, "And Jesus, look at 'm. He's a freak'n sasquatch. Good luck to any bar mug trying to get close enough to land a punch." Mary smiled at Dean's obvious pride. Sam just shook his head and countered, "Nice Dean. Could you have said any of that less eloquently?" Dean smirked and leaned in towards Mary to add, "Come on Mom! Could you be any more proud of the vocabulary stuffed up under that mop?" "Dean!" Sam barked an edge entering his voice warning his brother he was going too far.

Mary held up her hand to stop the escalating banter as amusing as it was. "Stanford?" She redirected the conversation. Sam nodded. "Yeah, pre law. I thought I would make a decent trial lawyer."

"Those stuffed shirts running the place thought so too," Dean added leaning back in his chair. "He was all set up with an interview to lock in a full ride on the post graduate stuff too." Mary's look of approval took the bite out of Dean's teasing, so Sam smiled and shrugged.

"Wow, John must have been over the moon." Mary thought aloud. "You know he had just started college on the GI bill when you were born," She directed at Sam. A sudden tension moth balled the room making Mary realize she had stumbled onto some type of emotional land mine. "Uh, I mean he was only a semester in… but… Well… the mechanic job he took to support us when Dean was born was always supposed to be temporary." Sam was staring at her in disbelief. "We wanted a better life for you boys, so… yeah, college. You know," she quickly added, "I went too; almost had my paramedic certification."

"DAD went to college," Sam clarified carefully.

Mary nodded, "Being raised by a single mother, college was just one of those things John was driven by." She chuckled lost in memory. "He was one of those nontrade students everyone hated because he would over do every assignment. He didn't just write the required 150 words, he would make visuals and have everything cross referenced; completely shattered the bell curve. I knew better than to be in a class with him."

"Both of you went to college… thought college was a good idea." Sam reiterated his eyes now on Dean with a manic WTF intensity. But Dean was lost in his own attempt to understand the hole this punched into who he had understood his father to be. Mary looked warily between her boys. Sam's face hardened sarcastically, "That's news to me. Dean?" Sam demanded. If this was another one of those things his brother had hidden… Sam didn't know what he was going to do. But it would be violent and Dean was going to be paying for it for the rest of his unnatural life! Sam jerked to his feet. The legs of his chair squealed like nails on a chalkboard. Effective pulling Dean from the conclusions spooling in his head.

Dean looked up into Sam's questioning disbelief. "He never said," Dean confirmed.

"Unbelievable!" Sam erupted throwing his hands up. But the split second glimpse of broken diffidence in Dean's quelling glare stopped Sam in his tracks. Sam glanced back at Mary to consider her. With a sniff he settled back in his chair. "Apparently DAD never said a lot. Because he refused to say anything to me for almost four years when I walked out that door for college."

"Sam," Dean's low voice was a warning. Sam's look was enough to communicate that he believed this was irrefutable evidence that their father's actions didn't deserve defending. But it was an old worn rut between them. Glancing at his mother, Dean knew exactly who he was protecting. The father their mother was still in love with. "He loved you," Dean said with narrowed eyes and steely conviction. Sam sighed and slowly agreed, dropping his head until his hair fell forward to sulk in some semblance of privacy. "Besides," Dean added to ease the tension, "You and I both know it was your hippy hair not your oversized brain that Dad objected to." Sam huffed an involuntary laugh.

"Jerk," Sam responded affectionately.

"Bitch." The word slipped out without thought. The force of Mary's palm against the back of Dean's head stunned both boys.

"Language!" she barked. Sure she had heard, even used worse but it was the principle. She was the mom, this was part of the job and that particular noun directed at her youngest was an automatic parental trigger. Dean stared openly at her like a kid caught with his finger in the frosted cake. Suddenly Mary was full term again, beached on that ratty second hand couch with the flower pattern she hated, staring into her four year old's stricken face seconds after the boy had accidently spilled the glass of milk he had been charged to bring her. "Sorry, baby!" Mary gasped, jumping forward to grab his arm. Dean jerked back involuntarily at the suddenness. OH HELL Mary realized. She had just hit one of her boys - she was a horrible mother! Crap! "I just, its… All the parenting books say…" She fumbled to explain, "It's a mother's role to teach her boys language control or they are more likely to grow up to objectify women."

Instantly Sam collapsed forward strangling in laughter. "Dean?" He wheezed, "Objectify women?" Surprised, Mary released Dean to witness Sam lose all composure. Tears spiked his lashes and the gasping breaths between peels of mirth quickly developed into hiccups. Dean glared, but Sam could only shake his head and ride out the reaction. "I'm sorry…" Sam tried only to interrupt himself with the giggles.

Dean watched his brother with a look of resigned suffering. He hadn't seen his brother this loose in years and it was a far safer topic than confronting their Mother's first gesture of reconciliation with a run down of John's faults. It was becoming obvious that Mary had fallen in love with a different John Winchester than Dean or Sam knew. So he let his brother go, watching the hilarity affect Mary with an suffering smile.

"Ha, Ha, ha… It's been what? *gasp (Chortle)… Hic …what…Ha, Ha… Hic, months since… Ha, Ha months since Dean tapped anything in a bar's broom closet." Dean's eyes narrowed in warning; watching his brother roll towards an edge that would require a reaction. *giggle, hic… "Ha, at least… Ha, ha… At least he's not dating the darkness anymore… gasp*" Ok, he's had one too many Dean thought. Sliding low in his chair to reach beneath the table, Dean kicked Sam's chair out from under him. Sam dropped immediately out of sight below the table. His body hit with a thump that left Sam laughing even harder than before.

"Dean, that's enough." Mary commanded, "I think you need some time alone." Dean raised his eyebrow but didn't comment. Instead he got up silently and dutifully left the room. Sam's large palm came over the table edge, and her son pulled himself over the lip of the table still huffing with amusement. "Did you just put Dean on time out?" Sam asked. Mary frowned, her eyes tracking to the doorway Dean had exited. "I guess. I think I'm supposed to draw the line when things escalate from verbal to physical." She looked back at Sam's impressed look. "I take it that's not a frequent thing?" Sam shook his head and retrieved his chair trying to clear the mirth still bubbling up.

Sam shook his head negatively wrestling with how to explain knowing his words would eventually find their way back to Dean. "I think Dad got his parenting style from Uncle Sam." Mary's look asked for clarification. Sam continued carefully, "I can't argue the results, but… I think Dean is covering a couple bruised ribs, so I appreciate that you didn't just send him out on a 20 mile run." Sam explained.

That didn't sound like the pushover that would slip his little four year old Cheetos after Mary announced it was too close to dinner for snacking. But she filed that piece of information away for later. She had a more immediate need for this moment alone with her youngest. Leaning forward she took Sam's hands. Pausing to enjoy the strength and warmth they held, she looked intently into Sam's eyes and spoke, "I need you to know how proud and impressed I am with how you turned out, Sam." She watched emotions shift through his beautiful expressive eyes and wondered how he was able to survive the life when everything he felt was written there on his face for any unnatural creature to twist and use against him. She gave his hands a soft squeeze for emphasis. "I'm sorry for everything you had to overcome, the troubles you were born with. I heard a few tales while I was out there. What you have done with what you were given is nothing short of miraculous. I couldn't be more proud. I'm hoping I can make up for the part I was responsible for… Maybe give you the chance to return to college and your dream of some normal life."

The declaration, his mother's open approval, and the implications of her pledge were too big for Sam to do anything more than nod. But his thoughts immediately went to Dean. "I can't leave Dean." He said with quiet conviction. Mary smiled in response. "I have no intention of leaving Dean either, the family that hunts together can also study together, right?" Sam's look telegraphed that he didn't think she knew what she had just taken on. "You know…" The moment took on a confessional feel. The intimacy of the moment tempted her to share the heavier burden she was struggling with.

Alarm crossed Sam's face, "It's ok," he jumped in thinking her anguish was because of him. "I forgive you... if that's even a question. I don't blame you, after everything…" Mary reached across the table to take his hand. How her youngest had turned out, wasn't the issue giving her heartache but this tender moment between a mother and her youngest son wasn't the right time to explain. So Mary smiled and kept her issue to herself.


	2. Chapter 2

I was blessed with two reviews - Thank you. So this chapter is officially dedicated to Kathy and Dr. Serpico. I hope you find it fun :)

" True, all of the good girls act so good -til one of them doesn't wait their turn." – Panic! at the Disco

Sam found his brother in the laundry. The washer gave the tiled room a soothing rhythmic sound. Sam jumped up on the counter and watched Dean fold each article of clothing as he pulled it from the dryer. This side of his brother had always fascinated Sam. The precision Dean gave each fold when all of the clothes would most likely end up shoved to the bottom of a duffle between a junk food bag and a spare cartridge of silver tipped bullets. Sam had mentioned the futility of it several times, but Dean had just shrugged it off as the way things go; one of those great mysteries in life, like why Sam preferred his hair long. Dean glanced at him but otherwise didn't stop. Sam sighed feeling the tension of the last week seep away. This was pure Dean, had been since before Sam could remember. Sam relaxed back against the wall allowing the familiarity to comfort him.

The buzzer on the washer sounded and the machine went still with a mechanical clunk. Pairing a last set of socks, Dean flipped open the lid and began transferring the damp clothes. Sam pulled a sheet of fabric softner and held it in offering. Dean tossed it into the load and spun the dial. The machine slowly spun up to a thumping staccato. Dean pushed a stack of denim towards Sam before turning to load the rest into a plastic basket missing a few rungs. Sam rubbed the heavy cotton between his fingers recognizing the jeans as his own. His brother doing laundry for him wasn't unusual, but he knew saying thanks outright would end the moment. He realized he was willing to participate in his father's dysfunctional rules of social engagement just to prolong the ease of the moment. He pulled the folded pile into his lap. "You went in my room?" He asked instead of what he meant.

Dean's shrug left his posture loose, telling Sam Dean understood the sentiment intended. "I didn't have a full load and I'm still having flashbacks from your last peacenik rant about limited resources and saving the planet." Dean teased.

"Ass," Sam huffed affectionately. Sometimes it did feel good to just talk without trying to achieve anything specific. "I'm kinda having a hard time picturing dad in college," Sam admitted. "I'll bet he was really good at pissing off the professors in a way they couldn't do anything about."

Mary's soft laugh startled both boys. She dropped a canvas bag of clothes to the floor and set her hip against the door frame. She touched her lower lip in thought. "There was this one guy, Professor Higgins, known for these mind blowing rhetorical one question take home tests no one could get a decent grade at. John went in there and tore each one apart with these dissertations on why the test question was unanswerable due to the sentence structure. They would explore both sides of the possible answer by analyzing how to shift the question to proper English. By week three Higgins drags John in front of the school dean raving about demerits and expulsion. The dean read the test responses and ends up offering John, Higgin's open aide position. John reworked the whole class content and ended up administering the final when Higgins opted for early retirement."

Dean nodded and began tossing articles of red into the empty washer. Mary waited, praying the spirit of reminiscing wouldn't sputter and die like so many of her other attempts. She met Sam's open eyes and he gave her a soft encouraging smile. Dean turned to her, "I'm doing a load of red, you got anything to add?" She nodded and as she set about searching Dean spoke. "Remember that third grade teacher you had that called dad in for a parent teacher conference?" Dean directed at Sam.

"Mr Fergeson? How could I forget? Didn't they figure out they had served in the same unit?" Sam nodded warming to the memory. "Didn't they end up drunk off their asses in some roadhouse dive?"

Dean nodded with a smile, "Yeah, called us at 2am looking for a ride home. Fergeson couldn't hold it and ended up unloading all over the back of the Oldsmobile we lifted. I've never been so happy to have a bartender refuse to give up the keys to the Impala." Mary managed to keep her face neutral as she handed over her contribution to the red load.

Sam sat forward eagerly, "How about that time Dad enrolled you as a new student to St Mary's Academy for young women?" Mary gave Dean a questioning look. "Woman in white," Dean explained with a shake of his head. Sam nodded, "Right, took you guys a week to nail."

Dean leaned back against the metallic edge of the washer with a chuckle. "Sister Mary Margret fainted dead away when that spook spun that damned wig off my head." Dean admitted.

Sam's smile grew wider, "I never heard you refuse a direct order except when Dad insisted you shave your legs for that school uniform." Dean shot Sam a glare. "Yeah? Well I recall you going overboard on the research of how to apply makeup." Sam laughed outright remembering the look on Dean's young face when he had opened the paper bag of swiped Avon products their father had shoved at him. Sam's phone pinged and he pulled the phone to check the incoming text before shoving the phone back into a pocket. "I never did figure out where you came up with the money for that expensive school uniform."

"Always make the most of the situation," Dean quoted their father. "Besides, you know the stereotype about girls from schools like that, they're curious and…"Dean sent Sam a devilish raised eyebrow. "I'm not having a birds and bees discussion with you, so stop digging." Dean turned to reach for the detergent and caught the slightly disturbed look on his mother's face. "Its not…," Dean fumbled misunderstanding the horror in here eyes. "I'm kidding. Sam's done… He's no…," Dean tried to explain.

"I got the talk," Sam said coming to Dean's rescue with a blush.

Mary nodded and forced herself to suppress the chill of realization that the unspoken part of the story was that Dean had been sent in as bait. She looked at Sam's rueful grin, his ease implied it wasn't an unusual circumstance from their childhood. OK. She sank to her heels and plucked at her laundry to cover the sudden lightheaded reaction to hearing evidence that her boys had been used in hunts. "So, um… " She struggled to find something to say that would continue the easy sharing. "How did John handle the talk?"

Sam's flushed red, "Dad didn't say much," Sam mumbled.

Dean laughed returning Sam's favor, "Gave Sam an old text book on female anatomy. Said study up and let me know if you got any questions." Dean smirked. "Effectively shut down Sammy's game for the next decade."

"Jerk!" Sam spit trying to hold back the laughter. Dean's mouth opened but his eyes slid to their mother and his customary response never came. The absence left Sam with a slight frown. Sam turned to Mary, "How about you?"

Mary's eyes slid from Dean to Sam. "Ok," she decided. "I was raised in the hunter community… I guess we have that in common," She added realizing it was the first time she had thought of her upbringing as an asset. "You know how it is. Hunter events are a little rough, Parents at the bar, kids left to their devices in the back and everyone is looking for a way to prove they can kill in under five flat." Mary shoved her hands in her jean pockets. "I caught this bully, Jace and his friends trying to force this quiet kid James to drink uri… Uh, something you don't want to drink. Dad was a Cambell so I would have caught hell if I hadn't laid all three of them out cold. But James was… He was new to all of it, lost his sister to a devil dog two summers back and was on his own trying to find his place. I helped him get a change of clothes and one thing lead to another. We were together for the summer until he hooked up with a group that he didn't come back from."

"And Dad?" Dean asked.

"John could handle himself just fine." Mary smiled widely and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "You need to understand - NOTHING phased Samuel Campbell. Ever. But the first time my dad heard the name Winchester he got the funniest sour pickle face I'd ever seen. I knew John was something special."

Sam cocked his head to the side, "I think I remember seeing that particular face when Samuel met Dean." Sam added, looking to Dean to gauge if the subject was safe. Dean stared at the scuffed black tips of his boots. "Yeah," Dean slowly spun out. "I caught a few comments about being too good looking to be a hunter. It didn't come up again after I saved their asses from those vamps." Sam's good humor sputtered at the memory of that filthy alley behind the bar where he had stepped back into the shadows to watch as a vampire took his brother. His head suddenly put together that Dean was doing a red load. Sam cleared his throat and hopped down from the counter. Pushing Dean aside he ruffled through the reds loaded into the filling washer until he found what he was looking for. "Dean!" Sam cussed. "This… It's my last one!" Sam hurriedly pulled a sopping wet white dress shirt from the machine. He wadded up the sodden shirt like an oversized spit ball and wailed it towards Dean. Dean dodged easily grabbed his laundry basket and bolted from the room before the mess could slide down the wall with a sucking plop. "This isn't the end of it Dean!" Sam yelled, trying not to grin as the sound of his brother's laughter washed away the sour taste left by the Campbell memory.

Sam glanced at his mother before walking over to collect the white shirt he had saved from the red laundry. "He thinks it's funny to watch me flash a badge to the authorities in a pink shirt." Mary tried her best not to laugh at the thought. Sam caught her mirth and shrugged good naturedly. "Its only funny if you aren't the guy trying to be taken seriously in a soft pink shirt. Law enforcement isn't exactly LGBT friendly in some areas of the country. But that's a best case scenario; some of Dean's pink shirt explanations are a hundred times worse than coming out."

"Like?" Mary prompted.

Sam made a face, "I don't know how he comes up with this stuff, but it was the day after valentines and he told the cop on the barricade that my mother did my laundry. Then he did this thing with his head to draw the cop's attention to a lingerie store front displaying red lacy things. I swear the whole town knew the story before we found the cursed object and rolled out of there. The entire hunt I kept finding women's underwear planted in embarrassing places." Mary laughed aloud and Sam had to chuckle. "What was Dean like as a kid?" Sam asked.

Mary studied Sam thinking, "Isn't that a question I should be asking you?"

Sam settled back against the washer unit to wait. Dean as a kid was something neither Dean nor his father had ever been willing to talk about. "Dean was…" She searched for an adequate description and finally settled "Sweet… and so aware. I'd take him to the park and he would stop playing to pick a dandelion and bring it to me; like no matter how involved he was playing with the other kids, and boy was he popular, I never left his focus." Mary started separating her lights from darks. "It sounds like Dean ran pretty popular in school. I always wondered if four year was too much of a gap for you two to be close. Four years can be quite a disadvantage to keeping up, did you ever feel left out?"

Sam frowned and tugged at the hem of his shirt. "Yeah," He admitted. "But not like you think. Dean was always there for me unless Dad ordered him otherwise." Frustrated by the fortune cookie response, Mary was about to call Sam on the avoidance tactics when her phone alerted her to a text.

Dean: Hey - Mom Moment - Sam needs dating advice. Ask about the girl he's sexting that he met at Oak Park Retirement Home. #HottieGrandma

Mary looked at Sam with disbelief. "What?" Sam asked worried by his mother's poleaxed expression. Mary flipped the phone around for Sam to read the text. "Dean!" Sam yelled. He stared at Mary with disbelief. Sam's phone pinged a text and Sam's face flushed deep red. "Is that…?" Mary asked. "It's not…," Sam fumbled, "She's not…" Sam gave up. Roaring his brother's name he tore out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for the reviews. This Chapter is dedicated to Kathy and my mystery guest for taking the time to give feedback. It really makes a difference. I hope I don't lose anyone with this chapter, it's not an easy read. I expect it will make some waves so send me a love it or hate it vibe.

1\. "If you want to start a fight, you better throw the first punch - make it a good one." -Panic! At the Disco

Mary gave Sam a slight nod, signaling her intent as Dean turned to serve up dinner. Sam's mouth twitched in acknowledgement. He bent his head over the kraft yellow nacho stack in front of him, bracing for impact. Dean flipped open Sam's laptop and placed it on the table between the place settings. "Think I found a job," he announced. "Big game hunter killed by his own trophy." Sam leaned forward to look but Mary snapped the computer closed. Dean glanced between his mother and brother. The silent table had that low pressure feel that raised the hair on the back of Dean's neck and had him looking for hidden trip wires. He tapped the table lightly before catching the movement and redirected the nervous energy by reaching for his beer. Dean met Mary's expectant look with expectant silence.

Mary opened her mouth, but couldn't quite articulate her intent. The moment gave her sudden insight into just how dangerous Dean could be. The ambush was set, but the eerie unflappable awareness of the pray left the predator damaged with doubt. Swallowing her nerves, she lifted a loaded chip and shoved it into her mouth. Crunchy, salty, savory, spicy… She glanced down at the spotted cheesy pile on her plate. "This, um… It's surprisingly edible." She admitted reluctantly. It wasn't the confrontation Mary had geared up for. Dean turned his own plate of Chili Mac Nachos to downplay his delight at her compliment. Sam gave her a sympathetic look and reached for a bottle of salad dressing. Mary frowned, not one to roll over or accept sympathy. She fell back awkwardly to the first available parental line. "Salad Dean? If you don't eat your vegetables you'll never get as big as Sam." Both sets of green eyes snapped to attention, poised, startled.

Sam moved to respond and realized his mouth was full. He swallowed and choked, a tortilla corner lodged at a painful angle in his throat. Dean sprang forward to pound on his back, the excessive strength retribution for Sam's part in whatever set up this was. Sam pushed Dean away signaling he was ok and took a tentative sip of his bottle of kombucha. He grimaced at the sour burn and checked the label to make a mental note to avoid the flavor going forward. Off balance, Mary sat back pulling parental authority around her like a survival blanket. Dean studied her carefully to see if she was serious. Mary's face flushed, telegraphing her frustration.

Sam scrambled to head off the escalation; Dean floundering to give his mother what she was unable to ask for. Grabbing his salad plate, Sam intervened, "Here, there's plenty to go around." Dean stared at Sam a moment considering his brother's olive branch, struggling with his own parental instincts. The first being dragging Sam into whatever trouble he had stepped in and the second being taking resources, in this case Sam's rabbit food, for himself. Sam glared a warning and Dean gave without grace. Grabbing a fist full of spinach and salad greens bare handed, Dean shoved them into his mouth and chewed. "Ugh!" Sam's look of disgust made Dean feel better about the exchange.

"Damnit! Table manners, Dean," Mary snapped, pounding the table. This was going so much worse than Sam had warned her it would. Both boys stared at her startled. "Sam and I are going back to college," she announced, her fingers creeping to her temple and the pressure building there. Sam wasn't the only one to catch Dean's slight hitch before reaching for another swig of beer. "OK" Dean said like it was nothing. He turned his attention to eating and it was several minutes before Mary realized there wasn't going to be anymore. She glanced at Sam, but his full attention was on his brother. So she stumbled forward, "They have these online courses now that work around any schedule. Sam's going to be a lawyer and I'm…" Mary hesitated struggling with Dean's lack of reaction. "I think I could be a paramedic." She finished. Dean nodded, shoving an oversized cluster into his mouth, chewing with puffed cheeks like a chipmunk. "I need you take this seriously," Mary continued. Dean nodded but he had yet to look either of them in the eye.

Sam's frown deepened, "This wasn't my idea," He said quietly. Mary felt like she had been hit from behind. She scowled at Sam, but he was too absorbed in his brother to notice. Dean nodded in dismissal and Sam caught Dean's wrist as he reached for his beer bottle. Dean gave Sam a hard look that pushed back.

"I already said I was good with this." Dean said with deadly steel leaving the what more do you want unspoken.

"We're not leaving you behind," Sam promised.

Dean shook Sam off and sat back in his chair. He gave Mary a glance from the corner of his eye before taking a sip and cradling his beer in crossed arms. "So that's it?" Dean followed, asking if that was the point of the ambush. Mary nodded.

That's not it, Dean thought feeling like his insides were falling away. How many times had he given Sam permission to go back to school and nothing. This was about the future, his future, something Dean always managed to screw up. Honestly, every time Dean had tried to do anything other than survive the moment he had found himself with bigger problems than he had started with. Dean stared between his brother and their mother trying to gauge what had already been said on the topic. Failed relationships? High school drop out? Criminal record? Legally dead? How much of Dean's potential had Sam outlined for her? Did she hold back because now she knew?

Mary swallowed and shifted closer, laying her arms on the table in an unconscious gesture of entreaty. "Listen Dean, I grew up in the hunter life. It's not something I…, "She stumbled and tried again. "If you're going to keep hunting, there's a right way and a wrong way. You can't just…" She faltered realizing he was actually listening and the failure was in her ability to communicate. "Dean, this can't just be about the adrenaline. The stakes are too high someone is going to get hurt. Not just a faceless stranger, but people you actually care about."

Dean went still, a veneer of stone emitting a highly combustible frequency. This was about Sam, Dean concluded. His mother thought Dean was going to get Sam hurt or even worse killed. Sam's future, Sam's safety; Sam's welfare was the only duty his father had bequeathed to Dean and he cared a whole hell of a lot about it. It no longer mattered what Sam had told her or how that affected her impression of him. Every catalogued wrong move Dean had made from releasing the darkness, thru breaking the first end of days seal, all the way to begging his brother to leave school to help him find their father presented itself in his head.

Sam watched his brother collapse back behind the role of soldier and realized something had gone very wrong. "Right, just let me know what you need me to do," Dean gave way before leaving the kitchen without a backward glance. Mary looked unnerved and glanced at Sam for an explanation. "I don't know," Sam admitted. He jumped to follow Dean but the hall was empty. Sam glanced back at the doorway to the kitchen with a bad feeling.

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"SAM!" the urgency of the shout collided off the stone canyon walls. It clenched Mary's gut like a cramp setting a chill loose to crawl beneath her skin. Grabbing the weapons bag from the mud she sprinted through the scrub pine. The heavy sky had turned a violent red with the low angle of the sun. The shadows had taken on an unearthly glow. A roar like thunder set the ground to shuddering. Mary broke free of the tree line as lightning arced across the stormy sky. The strobe light catching a huge white lion suspended in full extension; Sam on his knees. The following rumble of the storm released the action to play forward. The sky burst and dropped in a dark curtain.

Sam bent his head against the force of the rain and panted through the pain. His skin prickled and he turned to the sense of motion. He looked up numbly into fangs reaching for him like greedy fingers. He stared numbly as the lion's broad head reached for his own. A shadow hydroplaned across the hard pan and Dean's dark form was suddenly there. His iron blade fileted the beast's soft underbelly and the cat clenched around the new threat. Sam blinked. Then the beast's rounded shoulder drove Sam backward with the force of a wrecking ball.

The cat screamed and writhed around Dean like acid. The powerful feline body jerked and shuddered beneath the muzzle flashes of Dean's Colts. A twisting frenzied vortex, Shadow and light buffeting Sam's limp form. Dean cracked the beast's jaw with a quicksilver block as the clip on the Colt clicked empty. The sleeting rain pulled threads of carmine from the struggle. Mary slipped and slid to Sam's side as the cat plowed into the red dirt with a guttural rattle. The beast surged one final time pulling Dean from his feet landing him flat with enough force to steal his breath.

Mary grabbed Sam's limp arm and dragged him clear of the battle ground before turning back to check the action. She quickly found the lump at the back of Sam's scalp that was giving him trouble. Sam's eyes fluttered to life and he carefully pulled her fingers from his tender head. Clutching Sam's shoulder to keep him upright, she twisted back to the carnage. Blood stained fur steamed beneath the pounding of the rain. It was difficult to make out the unmoving black tread of Dean's boot in the shadow of the hulking carcass.

No! Fear sent Mary stumbling backward into Sam. Her chest refused to pull air and she gulped uselessly at the air. She crushed Sam's shoulder beneath her struggle to wake from this reoccurring nightmare. Hunter training kicked back against the panic and adrenaline surged forward like a battle cry. She made three steps before Dean moved pulling short her charge.

Dean forced himself perpendicular on principle. He stumbled through the vertigo as his chest reset circuit breakers to restart breathing. He loaded up on salt and lighter fluid before sprinting back to the Minoan Lion. He rolled with the unexpected appearance of his mother pulling the lighter fluid from his hand. Wordlessly, they salted and burned the dead before it's spiritual state could manifest. Sam's lecture from the ride in echoing in Dean's head, a Minoan Lion plays both sides of the gate; physical and spiritual. It's not dead until it's burned and gone. This one had been brought over as a hunting trophy, no one had minded the hunter's gruesome end at the claws of the pelt he had fashioned into a rug. But the innocents torn apart following had landed it on the Winchester's radar.

The massive beast burned for hours. Hours of twitchy fingers on lead buckshot, jumping at every gust of the storm, and suppressed emotional trauma. By the time Dean toed the last smoking embers making sure every tuft was ash, they resembled the lost fairy tale dwarves, Twitchy, Miserable, and Angry.

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Dean caught himself as he stumbled out onto the clearing of the trail head. The welcoming wink of light from his baby's sleek form gave him the energy to make those last few yards. Dean caught Sam eyeing him and straightened. "Frigg'n nature," Dean grumbled struggling to make his act convincing. Sam gave him a warning look, "Are we really going to play the avoidance game in front of mom? Cause one gut shot and the charade is over." Sam hissed. Dean shrugged and immediately grit his teeth in regret. Nothing a few stitches and sleep won't take care of, Dean refused to verbalize. "Like to see you try to throw something straight with that split head," Dean said as he brushed past his brother, but Sam grabbed Dean's arm. "I may be concussed, but I didn't black out. I saw those claws. How bad is it?" Sam's concern had officially gone to full bitch face.

"Relax Samantha, I don't have anything you haven't seen before. But the cold shower," Dean added taking an angry swipe at the rain running off his nose "…is getting old. Mind if we move this moment to the car?" Sam let Dean push away. The pounding in his head was wreaking havoc with his ability to hold a concentrated thought.

Dean trailed his fingers affectionately down the impala as he headed towards the trunk. Mary stepped into his path. Her eyes dark and seething. Dean could feel the anger roll off her like a furnace. She pulled the weapons bag from his grip and threw it in the back seat. Dean winced thinking about the wet duffle canvas against the leather interior of his baby. She slammed the door shut angrily and demanded, "What was that?"

Dean's face twisted trying to make sense of the question. "Minoan lion?"

Mary grabbed handfuls of dark cotton and slammed him backward against the car. "Damnit Dean! You stepped right in front of it." She pinned him with the strength of her combat training. Something in Dean's chest shifted with a click but the frigid rain was doing a decent job at numbing his response to the pain. Mary was too furious to notice. The nightmare of watching her son go down beneath a 300 pound killing machine had jacked her up and she had passed rational a few miles back. Mary twisted her hands tighter against her eldest's chest desperate for something solid to hold onto. It was one thing to fear a hunter's end for her boys and a hell of an nightmare to watch it happen in gut wrenching clarity. She pulled herself tight against his warmth. "I expect better from you!" She yelled into his face.

Dean's body shuddered but his gaze didn't waver. "Yes, mam." He answered.

"Don't do that," Mary growled. "You're not a Marine and don't you dare mam your mother. What the hell was going through your head!"

"Sam…"

"Sam made a mistake," Mary cut him off. "That doesn't make it ok for YOU to be a damn idiot!" Mary shoved him again and felt the shocks of the Impala rock.

"Mom?" Sam spoke standing to the side uncertainly. His breath stuttered with the chill. The rain had plastered his hair in long streaks across his pale face and his pupils were blown wide from the head injury. He had no idea how to diffuse the tension. This wasn't the role he was experienced at and the implication of failing frightened him more than the beast they had just killed.

"Get in the car, Samuel." Mary commanded.

Sam huffed in relief, disobeying a parental order, standing up for Dean… finally some familiar ground. "This is ridiculous. Standing out in the rain… let's just get back to the bunker and cool off."

Keeping a grip on Dean, Mary turned on Sam. "That's an order Sam!"

"Yeah, see I don't…"

"Sam!" Dean's low rumble cut through Sam's objection with the authority Sam had been following all his life. There was a moment where Sam considered, then with sharp angry movements Sam complied. The loud slam of baby's door his final objection.

Dean's authority being the strength underlying Mary's was one dysfunction too many. It twisted Mary in guilt and anger. Mary turned back to Dean and for once she didn't see the four year old that had charmed her into wanting a second child. Instead she saw the hooded blank eyes of a hunter waiting to take her next blow like nothing she served up could touch him; Like nothing she could do could be worse than what was already inside. She startled back from him in horror. "Give me the keys." She rasped. She averted her eyes as Dean put the Impala's keys carefully in her demanding palm. Without asking she patted him down to ensure he had his phone and wallet.

Dean let her have her way, relying on the metal at his back to keep him upright.

She wanted to hit him, hurt him, get some type of reaction to know that she could make a difference and that frightened her. She stumbled back like she couldn't bear to touch him. His acceptance of what was happening broke her heart, but she didn't know any other way to do this. She grabbed his chin, the light sandpaper stubble giving her a solid grip despite the rain. "Do you understand what you did wrong?" She watched his Adam's apple shift uncomfortable in answer. "Talk to me Dean! Stop hiding, we can't keep pretending this all ok." Mary felt the tremble that betrayed Dean's stoicism and tried to give him a way out. "Sweet heart," She begged, "Talk to me." But the only sound that answered was the clatter of rain against the Impala. Mary sighed, her eyes begged Dean to stop her, to give her what she was asking for but Dean was locked up tight. "Take a few days. Call if you need to, but don't come back until you have figured out something you want and can talk about it."

Mary dropped into the driver seat and closed the door with a solid thunk. She shoved the key into the ignition on the steering column and with a twist the Impala roared to life. The huge engine rumbled and the air vents began exhaling warmth. Sam groaned, his head cradled in his hands. Mary took her emotions out on the car, slamming it into gear and spinning out the wheels before Baby shot forward into the path of her high beams. She let the Impala's throaty growl emote for her before glancing over at Sam's slumped form. Doing her best to keep the Chevy on the straight and narrow, Mary shifted pulling off her wet jacket and retrieving a bottle of pain pills from the wet duffle. She pushed her wet hair out of her face and shook the pain meds for Sam's attention. He took the bottle and swallowed a handful dry.


	4. Chapter 4

I would like to thank my reviewers. Their comments made me realize I had better get a post up sooner than later. So this Chapter is dedicated to MarbleWolf, Angelus320 and my two guests.

1\. "I know what it's like to trade the ones you love for the one's you hate…" -Panic! At the Disco

The Impala idled in the florescent cast of a worn gas station minimart. The rain continued to beat at the windshield overwhelming the defense of the wipers. The transmission was in park, but Mary clutched the steering wheel in concentration. The ridge of her frown had begun to hurt. What had she done?

She remembered another night that the Impala's headlights had cut the darkness. Bugs attracted to the light, fluttered like motes of dust. The cool moisture of the creek bed clung to any available source of warmth, clutched at her rather than John. She cradled John's limp body in her arms; his head rolled unnaturally from broken vertebrae. She ran her finger along the crumpled edge of John's starched shirt collar, an affront to John's marine conditioning. The demon's piss colored eyes rippled with delight as it crowed the details of her parent's last moments. She listened from a detached distance, the hollow tin sound of her breathing as loud as the demon's litany. She dropped her palm to John's cooling jaw. She hadn't told him. She brushed a soft lock of his dark hair from his lifeless eyes. His absent father had left scars and he had told her he was going to be there for his kids. Lying beside him on a blanket spread beneath the starlight, she had believed him. The beast leaned close mistaking her tears as fear that she was alone in this world. She wasn't alone, she was pregnant and hell had no clue. When the demon offered a choice between her father or John there wasn't any hesitation. She and John had unfinished business. Her salvation was already present giving her strength, lending her guidance. All her plans…

The dark cab of the Impala had begun to get uncomfortably warm, but she couldn't move to adjust the thermostat. Pulling off for the gas station wasn't something she recalled doing. It had just happened and here she sat unable to move. Parenting was supposed to be about consistency, following through, creating a structure your kids could depend on. Don't threaten something you can't deliver on. Don't make a line in the sand you won't stand behind. Don't leave your grown, fully capable son behind to figure out his crap if you can't actually live with the idea of his silhouette in the rearview mirror. She began to tremble, the rationalizations weren't helping. She clutched the steering wheel to her chest like a lifeline.

Seven weeks ago… she was still nursing a baby. Holding little Sammy close as his tiny fingers rested against the swell of her breast. Seven weeks ago she had a husband who looked at her like she was everything. A dependable strength that would tackle the laundry and make sure dinner made it to the table; a partner to laugh with about stepping barefoot on Dean's forgotten hot wheels. Seven weeks ago she believed her sacrifices had bought a better life for her precious four year old son. She wasn't perfect, but she had earned what she had. Now… Everything she loved was gone and the grief was too much to survive alone. The urge to scream her loss strangled, "Gauhh.." at the sight of Sam's slumped sleeping form.

What had she done? The timer on her phone beeped reminding her she was still on duty. Time to check Sam's head injury. Get it together she spat in disgust to herself. Damnit, she hated how much she sounded like her father in that moment. As cold and inhuman as any creature he had killed… She reached a hand to Sam's shoulder. "C'mon Sam, wake up and give me the day."

Sam slowly drew the connection between the question and the fogged in feel of his thoughts. Slowly he pushed himself upright in the seat and ran through all the proper responses for a concussion system check. He blinked, studying the door of the minimart, making assumptions about Dean's whereabouts. His mother looked distraught and Sam figured it probably had something to do with his brother. He wasn't clear exactly what the unresolved issues with his brother were, but he knew Dean didn't do things easily. He licked his dry lips and decided to try to help, maybe fill in some of the gaps Dean couldn't admit to. "It's not all his fault," Sam tried. "I get frustrated with him at times and have to remind myself I'm working against years of Dad's conditioning." Mary turned her head and Sam saw the tear tracks. "Not that I'm saying it's all Dad's fault," he added quickly. "Dean has issues. But that mask of "I got it all handled" when he clearly needs help… I do blame Dad for that."

Mary shook her head and the tears started to fall in earnest. Sam was at a loss, he kept talking but he glanced back at the gas station hoping his brother would show up soon. It seemed the emotional weight of being raised from the dead was finally hitting her and Dean had more experience at that than Sam did. The one time it had happened to him he had been soulless… so not really helpful. "From what I can tell, things I've heard," Sam continued. "Dean was the one that held it all together after you died in the fire."

"He was four." Mary objected, her voice rough with tears.

Sam nodded and grunted regretting the motion. "We weren't raised in a hunter society. Dad didn't trust anyone except Dean." Mary swore violently, slamming her palm against the steering wheel.

Sam pushed himself higher on the leather bench seat and dragged Mary from damaging Dean's prized possession. "I don't remember anything earlier than maybe kindergarten, so that's five… six… years unaccounted for but Dean is pretty consistent." Sam swallowed nervously, "He'll be there when you need him… He always finds a way… in kindergarten, I remember Dean skipping out of school to pick me up from my short day; Dean patching Dad up after a bad hunt; Dean taking care of everything that would have had CPS step in."

"Dean hunting," Mary muttered bitterly. She sagged against Sam.

"Yeah," Sam whispered. "That did raise a few questions. Kids with bruises don't go unnoticed."

"So you think I should just let it slide that he takes unnecessary risks? That he isn't building a future for himself?" Mary whispered. She shifted to wrap her arms around Sam. "He was meant for this, the demon had no claim." Sam didn't know how to make sense of that.

Everything Mary was keeping inside boiled over, came pouring out and Sam held her somehow understanding she didn't need words. After several minutes, the worst was over and Mary pulled back. Sam rubbed her arm studying her wondering where the hell Dean was. Had he fallen in? Sam's face flexed in concern and he pulled Mary's arm into the light to study the red staining her shirt sleeves.

"Mom?" The worry was clear. She blinked tiredly at him. The emotional breakdown having taken everything she had. What had she done? "Mom!" He demanded roughly checking her over for the source of the blood stains. There wasn't anything to find. "Dean," Sam realized bolting from the car to check the bathroom for his brother.

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"Hey man, that's 11 hours. I gotta roll off. This rig has a digital tracker." Dean jerked awake at the voice, blinking at the dark leather of the Peter Built cab lining. Buddy gave him a tired look before pulling the key's and swinging his door open. "The stop dinner is crap. If ya got it in ya, walk the twelve blocks that way towards town." Dean nodded in thanks and pulled the door latch to tumble painfully to the asphalt. He pulled his boots beneath him before letting free of the truck's solid strength. Buddy came around the front of the truck hitching his jeans up by the belt loops. He had transported plenty in his career and had a second sense about knowing which loads were going to be worth the trouble. Something about this guy, had caused him to pick him up even without the universal thumb signal request. Buddy scratched at his graying head. "You got a few bucks for food?" Buddy said before he thought better about it.

Dean gave the trucker an impish grin, "Your old lady know you are trying to adopt strays?"

Buddy chuckled and turned for the corporate office to drop the keys to the rig. "Watch yourself, this ain't Disney Land," He tossed over his shoulder.

Dean nodded and headed for the store for a few supplies.

SNSNSN

Dean kicked open the door to the bathroom. It was small and cracked, but cleaner than the dusty shag of the hotel room. He dropped the lid on the toilet and carefully perched a bottle of cheap whiskey on the back tank. He pulled the stopper on the sink and dumped out the paper bag from the Sip N Save. With small movements, he set the toothbrush and deodorant aside. Every movement pulled at the damage to his torso. The 30 something mama's boy manning the front desk had looked surprised when Dean had produced a credit card that actually had a line of credit. Testament to how rough Dean looked.

Dean tried to toss the bag of peanut butter M and M's out onto the bed in the other room, but the effort left him collapsed panting against the door jam praying he didn't pass out. He was more careful hanging a cheap black T shirt sporting a campy state motto over the shower curtain bar. The bandages he perched beside a travel sewing kit. He splashed the sink with Hydrogen Peroxide then rubbed it clean with the provided thread bare towel. Emptying his pockets he stripped down to his boxers and cracked open the alcohol.

Carefully opening the cheap plastic box he pulled out the needle and stared at the five colors of thread included. If Sam where there he would have picked something inappropriate, like the soft pink. If Dad were around black would have been chosen for utility. He realized he didn't have a color preference for his mother, hadn't considered it before to be completely honest. He teased the end of the white loose and measured a length. He blackened the needle with his lighter, strung it and filled the sink with most of the antiseptic and warm water to soak the thread. He stared at himself in the mirror. "Suck it up!" he ordered his hesitant reflection. "Let yourself get soft, didn't you," He muttered. He grabbed the plastic bottle of hydrogen peroxide and considered technique. Sam would dab, Dad would douse. Dean studied the mirror, what would Dean do? He glanced at the half open door to the bedroom and knew given half the chance he would forgo the whole ordeal to get some sleep. "You really are an idiot." He said to himself with nod of amusement.

He was halfway through the whisky, reliving a one night fling with a contortionist, trying to tie off a stitch on a gash that wrapped around to the base of his shoulder blade when his phone went off. Startled Dean missed the end of the thread and it slid losing one side of the wound. Dean snarled a stream of curses and fumbled to answer Sammy's ringtone. But his fingers were stiff from the intricate work, odd angle, and twitchy from pain. The phone slipped across his wet fingertips into the pink tinged water in the sink. Crap! He shouted. The phone was unresponsive by the time he fished it out. He panted a few moments against the counter top before forcing himself back to the task at hand. He had realized several stitches in the problem with white was visibility. He was currently using navy, but figured he'd be multi colored before he was finished.

SNSNSN

The phone rang and went to voicemail AGAIN and Sam howled to the dark woods. He didn't bother leaving yet another panicked, desperate, or begging message. This wasn't his fault. Checking Dean's GPS had been his first instinct after the first call had failed to reach Dean, but the phone didn't show. That was before Mary had confessed to what she had done. Before Sam realized she had let him sleep for three hours. He pulled his hair back, tugging sharply against the low throb left by the concussion. He couldn't believe this was happening. "Dean…" He pleaded. He hit redial just because he didn't know what else to do. He had redlined the car to get back to the trail head but the rain had scrubbed every trace of their passing. Dean wasn't where Mary had left him; which meant he was injured and not answering his phone somewhere Sam had no clue to look. Crap! Sam collapsed back against the wet side of the Impala. He studied Mary's mute shadow from his peripheral vision. At least she had pulled herself from the passenger seat for appearance sake, not that Dean was there to witness it. Sam shuddered and wondered if he had been this broken after Jess. And there had been Dad, and even their half brother… Fate had a sick sense of humor throwing another damaged Winchester Dean's way to care for. Sam couldn't believe Mary had said anything about disliking how Dean had turned out. What kind of mother says that?

The phone in his hand buzzed and he swung it to his ear without a thought to check caller ID. "Dean!"

There was a moment of hesitation before Eileen's unique vocal cadence asked "Sam?" Sam spun away from the impala to give himself distance from his mother. Mary watched Sam stalk off to talk. He didn't go far enough for her to fail overhearing that it was Sam's crush not his brother. "…no, you're right. You're going to need numbers to take a nest. Yeah, I'm close but… I don't have Dean. It's… I don't know where he is. It's not him. It's… Ok, we'll give it a look. No, my mom. Send me the address. Yeah, me too." Sam ended the call and stared at Mary. She wasn't in any state to be hunting, but Eileen sounded in over her head. He wasn't sure what to do, but he knew what Dean would do. Stow the personal baggage and go save some lives.

Sam stared at his phone. Eileen's text address came through. The problem was that Sam wasn't as good at compartmentalizing as his brother. Instead of jumping in the car, he pulled out his wallet picking through the credit cards. The top one was under the name Eddie Lommi. He pulled up the browser on his phone and typed in a search on the last name. The Wikipedia returned a Veikko, Miikka, and Tony. Tony Lommi, songwriter for Black Sabbath. Only Dean, Sam huffed calling the customer service number on the back. "Hi, yeah. Sure, Lommi. …it's 4578. Thanks, my brother Tony thinks there might be fraud on his card, could you tell me was the last charge a dinner? Really? Wait maybe that's right, what was the address? Oh yeah," Sam laughed with a sudden lightness. "No, No! That's a valid charge I just didn't realize they had already run it. No, we're good… Sounds like a false alarm, sorry to bother you. Survey? No sorry, I don't…" Sam snapped his fingers to get Mary's attention. He waved her back into the impala as he rated the service five star and hung up. Sam typed in the address into his phone for driving directions.

Guest – Sorry I should have been more clear about the timeline last chapter. I'll go back and adjust. Eileen is the girl Sam met in the episode about the banshee at the retirement home. She's the badass deaf girl who hunts, remember? I totally ship Sam and Eileen.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks for the reviews, they really help me keep this plot moving. I'm dedicating this chapter to Loves-to-Read09, waitingforAslan (Kudos for ID'ing the deal's 10 year timeline.) MelindaSkyeMay and my 2 guest reviewers.

1\. "And if you want to make it through the night you better say my name…" -Panic! At the Disco

Dean sat against a damaged concrete divider watching the dawn cycle through a soft blue hue before flattening to grey. The deep gashes in the cement skin exposed the dark rebar bones beneath. The faded store fronts were all still sleeping beneath their metallic security blinds. Bits of litter caught in the crevices. The cold bite of the air felt good against Dean's flushed skin. After last night's exercise in needle point, he had passed out for a few hours. It hadn't been intentional, one moment he was stumbling sideways beneath the effort to pull the fresh T-shirt over his head, the next he awoke face forward in a pool of his own drool. Not his sexiest moment, but it probably wasn't the worst the popcorn ceiling or sun bleached pompom trimmed curtains had seen. But it had taken more effort than it should have to push himself upright. He had pulled himself to the gilded bedside table to return Sam's call, but the ancient rotary phone had refused to accept the credit card, something about a fraud hold and the service wouldn't take any other form of payment. Dead men with criminal records knew enough to appreciate the early warning and bounce rather than risk a brush with local law enforcement. So he gathered his toiletries, the heavily used sewing kit and the towel he had used to rub down the room of blood and fingerprints into his paper bag and made his way out a back fire escape exit. He had paced the streets looking for a pay phone until a dizzy spell had forced him to settle for watching the day break.

Dean sighed and let his eyes slide shut. He knew he was running a temp. He could feel the fire eating up his concentration. He wasn't quite as desperate to address the problem as he should be. He could hear Sam's voice echoing in the back of his head fussing at him; his own version of Jiminy Cricket riding his ass about giving a damn about himself. But it was easier to focus on finding himself a source of holy water to flush his wounds, than to dwell on his newly single status. He watched the traffic pick up as the neighborhood slowly woke with the lethargy of an old mutt.

Dean tucked his paper bag beneath his arm and drifted down the busted side walk. Several blocks in he found himself watching a tiny elderly woman hissing and spitting at a store front metal roll up blind in a language Dean didn't recognize. After a few moments of puzzled amusement Dean realized the issue and stepped in to add his height and strength. The woman stared at him with dark wary eyes. Dean pasted on one of his magnetic smiles but the woman huffed and backed up a step. Dean shrugged and moved to roll on when his eye caught the crucifix hanging above the store entrance. "Church?" he asked pointing at the cross and then miming the act of searching. The woman looked at him like he had lost his mind but slowly pointed down a crowded side street.

SNSNSNSNS

Broken glass crunched beneath the tread of the impala as it swung onto the uneven pavement of the Matador motor lodge parking lot. Sam cut the engine and sagged back in the driver's seat. Mary was slumped at his side, her head gently balanced on the leather ledge of the door trim. Sam worried what he would encounter when she awoke. He wasn't leaving here without Dean and he hoped Mary didn't make that difficult. His gaze slid to the three story sprawl of peeling paint and sagging door jams. Time to pull rank and find out which door held the prize, Sam slid out of the car and headed to the trunk for his G-man getup. He dressed as modestly as possible in the car taking care not to wake his mother's sleeping form. It wasn't until he reached for his badge in the glove box that the Winchester luck kicked in. Or perhaps, Baby wasn't feeling quite as charitable and several badges tumbled out with an alarming clatter startling Mary awake.

Taking a moment to catch up while Sam shoved fake ID's back into their place by her knees, Mary finally spoke. "Sam?" her voice steady and back in control.

Sam sighed, He almost wished he was still dealing with the broken catatonic version that would have been happy to stay in the car. "We're picking up Dean and then getting back on the road to make Clinton before noon. I need to know that you are going to help me with that." Sam said giving Mary a glare. Letting her know he expected her to help him get Dean past her earlier edict. Mary opened the door indicating her agreement. As she leaned to get out Sam pulled her back. "He won't get in the car if he thinks he hasn't met your punishment." Sam censured. "He's not… this isn't about forgiveness and getting back to good. I'm not even sure there is a way to get him to believe he was good. Leaving him was a mistake, it's only going to make risk more to provide the worth he thinks he lacks. THIS, only works if he thinks there is a greater need than making up for his own personal crap." Sam's expressive eyes begged her to get it. But Mary didn't get it, not really. She couldn't fathom the self-esteem issues Sam was hinting at, but she nodded her agreement that she would follow Sam's lead.

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The fit morning desk clerk of the Matador mobile lodge sat up straighter as the tall suit walked in with a blond trailing in his shadow. The pair looked worn, but they obviously weren't here for a room. "Andrew Weber" the guy said flashing his badge before tucking it into his breast pocket. The woman studied the office interior refraining from identifying herself. "Alan," Alan said pointing to the badge pinned crookedly to his red polyester polo. Quickly he slicked his blond hair across his forehead. "Can I help you?" he asked, certain he had seen this moment from his porn collection. He took a moment to admire the way the federal agent's long hair curled around his collar. A bit of a rebel when it comes to regulations… Alan entertained himself with the observation. Drowning in Agent Weber's gold edged green eyes, Alan slid his palm over his chest, pulling the material taut against the abs he spent hours perfecting every week.

Sam frowned under the heat of Alan's attention, but that didn't stop him from stepping up to the front desk and asking what room number Tony Lommi was in. Sam was almost relieved Dean wasn't there to witness the desk clerk lick his lips suggestively. It was the kind of thing Dean found hilarious and was relentless about rehashing. Alan slid a key card across the counter, catching Sam's hand in his rather than releasing it. Leaning in Alan whispered, "I saw the fraud alert when it came across, but I had no idea the government would be so… responsive."

Sam frowned, the first inking of dread settling between his shoulder blades.

"When you're done with him, I hope you will take a moment to investigate me." Alan added with a suggestive raised brow and a caress of his thumb across the inside of Sam's wrist. Sam nodded clinging to his unshakable Agent persona and turned to be faced with his mother's questioning look. He grimaced, but he didn't have time to unravel his mother's head. He needed to get to Dean before the credit card's fraud alert spooked his brother. He swallowed with unease and shoved briskly past his mother out the door.

Room 340, was up two stair cases and in the back. Sam rapped against the door without waiting for Mary to catch up. A door three down opened and an elderly man in a stained cotton tank top and plaid flannel pants shuffled into the hallway. He eyed Sam suspiciously before heading toward the exit with an ice bucket tucked beneath his arm. Mary reached Sam's side and beat Sam to a follow up knuckle rap against the door. "Open up Dean!" Sam ordered, watching for the flicker of light in the peep hole that indicated movement inside. "Alright," Sam huffed flipping the key card between his fingers. "I asked nice," He huffed. The door clicked and Sam and Mary surged forward. The room was typical Winchester fare; dated, aged, fugly. It was also empty. Mary went to check around the bed as Sam moved to the bathroom. Everything was too clean pointing to the ugly reality that the fraud alert had caused Dean to go to ground. Sam swore and sent a damning glare at his mother.

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The church was a plain set of double doors set between large white painted crosses in a deserted industrial district collapsing from urban decay. Dean wasn't even certain he had the right place until he opened the door and recognized the hushed pious atmosphere that seemed to collect in religious buildings. He shifted quietly through the door intent not to disturb the group clustered around the podium. But the hinge was broken and the door slammed with a boom; every eye pinned to his frozen form. Dean swallowed and took a step back when a deep voice offered, "Coffee and donut?" Dean's stomach gave a resounding hell yes growl that caused a titter of polite laughter from the group.

Father Lo poured a paper cup full of Vienna roast and lured Dean to a seat with a grease stained pink pastry box. With a nod he directed the reed thin man standing beside the podium to continue.

"So… yeah, Margie is doing better. I mean she has difficult days, but we get through those and I try to focus on the good days. It's hard, cause she's all I have and it's not like she's going to get better. It's… It's cancer and it's not like I can afford any of that stuff the vet prescribed." The man's face clenched in grief and he fumbled a cloth tissue from his jean pocket. There was a moment where he opened his mouth to continue before he gave it up for the safety of a folding chair. The group shifted uneasily in their chairs. Each member glancing at their neighbor hoping the inspiration to share would hit someone else. Father Lo leaned against the wall beside the refreshments table. The white of his collar standing out like the all seeing eye from the dark cloth of his shadowed figure. "Mia?" His deep voice called.

An elderly Asian woman glared at the priest before charging the podium. She pointed to herself and huffed "Mia, Alcoholic," Then launched into a diatribe in a language Dean didn't understand. Dean stuffed half a pink frosted sprinkle donut into his mouth and struggled to strangle the groan of ecstasy it elicited. A young man to his left stared at him with uncertainty. Dean ignored the notice and took a sip of the dark coffee. His stomach growled possessively as the food fought it's way down his throat. Damn, how long had it been since he ate? The bag of M & M's hadn't held up long. Dean blinked, his mother's rebuke about vegetable consumption adding the slight burn of indigestion to his breakfast. Lunch he vowed, taking another long sip of bitter to offset the sweet. One maple bar later Mia sat down and Father Lo's voice found Dean.

Using the back of his hand to clear the crumbs clinging to his stubble, Dean sauntered up to the podium. This wasn't his first meeting and he took the moment to scan the room for the font of Holy Water that was his true goal. He ran his tongue beneath his lip to clear his teeth of gummed up food and gave what he could to a smile.

"Uh… Dean," he muttered with self-deprecating gesture at himself. "I've gone a few rounds with…" Dean grit his teeth against the habit to pour on the charm and wave his arms to distract from the reality of the situation. He bent his head and gave a slight nod. "Yeah, alcoholic." He confessed. "None of this is easy. Life just grinds at you and a drink is just one of those go to home remedies that's supposed to help. I don't know if that's just… not holding on quite so tight or numbing the damaged areas… But drinking is easy and it almost works. So you keep chasing that bullet." Dean shifted to lean his weight against the podium. Damn, Sam would be having a heyday if he were here right now. But the thought wasn't enough for Dean to feel any actual appreciation for his solo status.

"I've been worse," Dean admitted. "It helps not being alone." He searched for the face of the first AA confession he had walked in on and added a soft, "So, ah… I get this thing with Margie. That's rough. My brother Sam…" Dean turned his attention to a rough spot in the wood trim of the podium. He ran his thumb over the inclusion unable to leave well enough alone. "Every day is a battle to be a better person." His voice dropped low, "That's just not something I'm going to win on my own. But the one you let in is… the one you'll drown. And suddenly there's something at stake."

The broken entrance door announced a new arrival with an echoing clank. A young boy, about nine darted between the pews ran past the group to dive into the underside compartment of the podium. He huddled further into the recess, his dark eyes looking at Dean with a mix of fear and hope. He wore a torn Henley with the type of red stains Dean identified instantly.

A heartbeat later five more kids breached the sanctuary. They didn't hesitate at the presence of adult authority like normal kids would. Instead they spread out like a tactical team and they moved with unnatural grace; more predator than puppy. Father Lo stepped forward brandishing his pink box of fried confections. "Hey boys, we are in the middle of a meeting. Is there something I could I help you with?" The smallest boy bared his teeth and hissed at the man.

Dean palmed the handle of his large knife. Christo! He called wading through the AA members to get ahead of the threat. The only reaction to Dean's call was a confused glance from Father Lo. Awesome, Dean thought sarcastically, not demons.

The violence came fast. A chubby faced blond with freckles buried his teeth into the neck of an elderly veteran. The arc of Dean's blade dislodged the fangs headed his way. The boy's cranium tumbled free over Dean's shoulder as the bundle of small limbs collapsed on impact into Dean's chest. He ducked beneath the small body like a shield as another underage vamp leapt for his back. Gunfire erupted, voices screamed, and the air took on a coppery bite. Hands half the size of his own sent Dean air born into a bank of votive candles. The undead howled as it's body acted as an accelerant, spreading flame across the coffee table cloth before exploding out a painted window. Father Lo rolled beneath unholy terror, his arm braced beneath the snarling snapping jaw of a pre-teen boy with a face from a milk carton's missing side. Mia's gnarled hand brought a heavy crucifix down across the back of it's neck, hacking as it's body thrashed. Another head dropped to the floor at Dean's feet and the remaining vampire fled leaving a carcass in it's wake. Dean's head swept the devastated room registering the threat was cleared before his body's thermostat blew a fuse and the floor surged out from under his feet. His head recoiled against the floor and the last sight he had was of the small boy from the podium scuttling straight for him.


	6. Chapter 6

I know the idea that Mary was 2 weeks prego when she made the deal with the Yellow eyed Demon is AU, doesn't fit the 10 year plan script. But I just don't see how a woman raised in the hunter life makes that deal without extenuating circumstance. Dean would make the deal so he wasn't alone, but Mary doesn't have his issues. The first thing she did after being resurrected was decide she needed some alone time, so nix that idea. Plus, there's case evidence pointing that Mary was looking for ways out of the life (Like Sam) so she was already contemplating a clean break (more reason not to take the deal or mind being alone). So I'm going with the "Demons lie" explanation and wonky hormones for the discrepancy. Feel free to belabor the point with a review.

This chapter is dedicated to those who left a review the last chapter – Shaz, MelindaSkyMay, and Kathy.

1\. "You've been gone so long that I've forgot what you feel like… but I'm not going to think about that right now." -Panic! At the Disco

"You can fix this," Mary muttered into the soft drone of engine rumble and Michelin's against asphalt. It was an improvement over dwelling on the damage she had done… at how she had been capable of… "Stop being a victim and take the wheel," it was her father's voice; a memory of his take no prisoners pep talk to help her move past a 4th grade crush. "Don't give up the fight if you think he's worth it, but for god's sake don't make yourself a target by flashing those tears. You're a Cambell girl, ain't anything strong enough to wring tears from that." Thanks dad, she thought bitterly. Here she was, another link in the chain she had paid in blood to break.

The hours they had trolled the surface streets turning over nothing but dust had taught Mary a little something about Sam's ability to hold a grudge. It had been late afternoon when Sam finally collapsed from exhaustion and surrendered the Impala's driver seat. With a tense civility, they had put their search on hold and swung the Chevy west, headed for Eileen and her troubles. Sam had slammed a heavy metal cassette into the radio, shut his eyes and done his best to deny her existence. She glanced at his sleeping face. She could see the family resemblance; John's strong jaw, her father's lanky frame. But what she didn't see was more important. There wasn't any physical reminder of the chubby, toothless grin or the baby blues that had just begun to shift in color. Her connection to Sam was intuitive… abstract; more adult. She felt a responsibility to advocate rather than shelter. Dean wasn't as simple. His eyes held the same verdant perceptiveness as the four year old she had lost. His shoulders set with the same cool bravado when the world tumbled south. He still had a talent to make something of any crap situation thrown at him. She couldn't seem to shake the need to correct or shoulder the responsibility of his actions.

Her relationship with John hadn't been perfect. She sometimes wondered if the stormy waters where what had kept her challenged enough to stay with a man uneducated about the dark. In particular she remembered Dean's fourth birthday. Queasy from morning sickness, she hadn't the strength to face a pack of sugar crazed kids or the small talk and gossip of their mothers. She had been so ridiculously relieved when little Dean had agreed to a small family centric party; tears had actually streaked her cheeks. It was supposed to be candles, cake, and one final only child moment where Dean was the center of both his parent's attention before the big sendoff into brotherhood. She couldn't even remember what they had argued about but John hadn't come been home for 3 days and she had just jerked the phone free from the wall and wailed it across the room. Daddy wasn't picking up the cake and she was sure she had yelled a few choice words that mommies weren't supposed to say with little ears present. Dean walked into that battlefield with magnetic charm and handed her a picture of rainbows, smiles, and holding hands. He stepped into John's vacancy with 4 year aplomb, sat her down at the table and produced a dented cupcake from preschool that he had pocketed for a rainy day.

She may have lost the babe from her chest, but her four year old was still there in the way he set the table with a salad for Sam, the way he left a fresh towel outside the shower, the way he stepped between a lion and his family. But what had been heartening in a boy with a whole life of possibility in front of him was tragic in a man putting up a strong façade as the best of life slipped through his fingers. It damaged every attempt she made to move past seeing him as a four year old. She couldn't shake the responsibility to guide and correct even though it was damaging something already grown. Mary turned the Impala off onto a dirt track at the instruction of her phone. It was still unbelievable that electronics had replaced road maps.

The languid swing of Baby's front end was so alien it woke Sam instantly. He blinked a moment sifting through the purr of the engine beneath Dean's music, the worn leather cradling him, the smooth glass against his face until he zeroed in on Mary's hand steering the wheel. He pushed himself upright and turned his attention out the window to the corroded grain elevator marking their destination. He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked it for messages. There wasn't anything from Dean. He texted to Eileen that they were pulling up and dropped the phone back into a pocket. Mary waited, but Sam turned back to the neglected landscape looking ahead to the moment he could hop out and put more space between them.

Mary sighed and turned her focus forward. "I…," She wanted to say sorry, but it wouldn't vocalize. "I lost it," She improvised but it made no difference to the tension and she couldn't stop herself from adding, "But you don't understand."

"Yep", Sam easliy agreed.

"What was I supposed to do?" She barked; Sam's silence amplifying her sense of guilt.

Sam didn't answer, but the silent thought "you're not supposed to leave your son" hung obviously between them. "I didn't know…" She caught sight of her red stained sleeves and stopped herself red handed. Witnessing the death defying moment was exactly what had sent her over the edge. She couldn't cry that she didn't know Dean was hurt. "just weeks ago I had a baby Sam! Adorable, cuddly, peach fuzz and blue eyes, but most of who you are today hadn't developed yet. I look at you and see you, not the baby I lost. Your brother and I… it's different!"

"How?" Sam growled. From go, Dean had always been more parent than kid in his eyes and the few insights he'd had into Dean's childhood had only served to solidify the opinion.

Mary cursed and slammed on the brakes. The Impala vanished into her own turbulent wake of dust. "I love him!" Mary cried. Sam's brows jumped in surprise, suddenly unsure where the conversation was headed, of the implication that she had singled Dean out. And Mary's face twisted with the implication her words had left. "I love you too," She said brokenly, "But I had time to form expectations for him that I didn't for you. Four years to your six months. There's a big difference."

"You're disappointed?" Sam roared in amazement. "In Dean?" He had to clarify because the idea was so… Dean was far from perfect, but this was inconceivable… his brother who followed their father's every order… who lived his life in loving memory of the mother they lost… the world was the way it was because of Dean, Sam was the way he was because of Dean.

Dean had saved the world, was the reason Sam had overcome his mother selling him out to the Devil, and Mary could see all of it written on Sam's face. "Hunting things, saving lives is a great cause, but it's not a future, Sam. Don't expect me to accept a blaze of glory for my sons."

Sam's forehead creased with concern. Yes, he had entertained the same thoughts about Dean. He had tried to change Dean with the same goal and failed for so many reasons; finally settling for the role of fire fighter to ensure the blaze couldn't consume his brother. But hearing the idea come from their mother twisted the meaning and he couldn't help his response. "How can you say that to me after the deal you made?"

SNSNSNSN

Linda Nakamura kicked open the door before the huge black American made car had come to a halt. She sprinted for the huge cement slaughter house, her focus on the individuals inside rather than the ones at her back. 32 hours on her feet and the only thing keeping her going was a package of chocodiles and the belief that her son was still alive. The Shinto blessed steel strapped between her shoulder blades promised eternal rest for the creatures nesting within. Making the outer wall, she waited for her companions to catch up before sliding through a broken window with eerie silence. Sam had never seen anyone move like that except his brother. He tightened his hold on the machete and tried not to dwell on the wish that it was Dean rather than Eileen's Japanese spitfire cousin that he was covering.

Sam watched Eileen and his mother disappear around the back of the building with a sense of unease. But it wasn't the typical worry of what would happen when a mom went unsupervised with a potential rival for her son's affection. Sam had no doubt Eileen could hold her own. It was more of a premonition that death was present and they were going in too hot to avoid crossing paths with the inevitable. Linda had tunnel vision, blinded by the vampires taking her son and Mary was over compensating for losing Dean. There was no doubt this was a trap and their only plan was storm the castle, not Sam's comfort zone. He pulled his phone from his pocket, still no messages. He hit speed dial and tried not to take it personally when the dial tone switched strait to the automated messaging. "Hey Dean, Mom and I are about to do something stupid and I know how you hate to be left out of this sort of thing. If you are still in the area we could use you." Sam swallowed back a powerful yearning for his brother. Just let me know you are OK, he thought. I love you, please be ok… but he knew these weren't things Dean could process in any direct form of communication. So instead he bit his lip and concluded, "Stay safe Dean," And pressed the button to disconnect. He stared at the phone a moment, on the off chance that maybe Cass had heard his prayers and found a way to impress upon Dean the decency to return the call but the screen remained dark. Turning the device off, Sam slipped it back in a pocket and moved to follow Linda. He wouldn't let himself dwell on the knowledge that picking up the phone was a compulsive Dean attribute. That path lead no where good.

Sam crept down a dark cement corridor. A flicker of shadow at the far end indicated Linda's progress. Dusk cast the world into flat shapes absent of shadows. The dust frosted windows lent nothing more than a pattern to the gloom. Everything was still in waiting. Even the air hung static and sticky; clinging like spider webs to the skin as Sam pushed forward. A powerful urge to turn back left Sam questioning if his psychic abilities really had gone dormant. Sam's pulse surged to fill the absence of sound, a forbidding metronome to mark his progress. Instinct had Sam rolling before his head even identified the soft sigh. A blade flashed and a shape struggled to recover the miss. Sam surged forward, spinning through the friction of bone and muscle and poised for the next attack before the body dropped. A chorus of displeased hissing wrapped the room and the shadows writhed to life. Sam shifted, exposing his back in invitation. Mad with the scent of blood, small shapes lurched forward in a frenzy. Sam's machete caught one in the air but the feel was all wrong. The vampire broke too easily and Sam tripped over it's tiny limbs. Another body and Sam recoiled at the youth of the face that slide from his blade. They are all kids! Sam stumbled with the realization and pain seared into his thigh. Another one twisted it's small fists into his hair as it rode his back. He bucked and the pressure dropped to tighten about his neck. Teeth dug into his side as suffocation danced like dust motes across his vision.

SNSNSNSN

Dean hit awareness like a punch to the solar plexus; limbs jerking like 60 cc's of charge just arced his chest. Iridescent fumes curled up from his scored chest. He blinked trying to make sense of the rows of shelving surrounding him. Incense burned on every breath. An old raisin of a face hung over him speaking… Asian? Dean didn't know. Dean rolled up onto an elbow to take stock. He was laid out in some library, books were stacked along the walls and the buried desk reminding him of Bobby. His cringe worthy T shirt was MIA, and some sadist had plucked out every single stitch from his chest that he had sweated. Dean cursed and collapsed back against the worn linoleum flooring. Father Lo pushed through a beaded curtain and smiled seeing Dean awake. He crouched beside Dean, his head tilted to listen to the unintelligible dissertation the withered old man was delivering in monotone. Father Lo nodded conspiratorially then held up a hand to halt the verbal flood. "Dr Cho has cured your spirit sickness, but the herbs are hallucinogenic. You will need to give it a few hours to clear your system. His cousin was at the meeting and… well, you weren't responsive, so I agreed to treatment on your behalf."

"Holy Water?" Dean croaked.

Dr Cho crouched on Dean's other side. "Holy water" he muttered hucking a disdainful wad of tobacco onto the floor beside Dean's head. "Weak. Not enough," The ancient man pieced together English like a spider spinning on heroin. "Problem," he spat stubbing his boney finger into the flesh beneath Dean's clavicle. Dean covered his wince with the strain to crane his neck for a look at the spot. "The tattoo?" Father Lo asked. Dr Cho shook his head no and pecked his finger harder into Dean's flesh, like a wood pecker. Dean slapped the hand away. Done with being the specimen he sat forward and used a near by tower of literature to gain the altitude of his own two legs. He took another look at his tat. The doc had packed the cuts with a sharp smelling pearly goo. One of the cuts crossed the outer circle of the design making the protection ineffective. Dean grunted, good ole Winchester luck he thought.

"Ok," Dean muttered indicating he got the complication Dr Cho was trying to communicate. "Everyone ok?" He redirected putting aside the complication to deal with it later.

Father Lo held out one of his personal black button up shirts folded beneath Dean's knife. "Several injuries, but Dessie was the only casualty. You knew what you were doing, what they where. I'm hoping we bandage you up, make sure your kid get's fed, and in exchange you shed a little light on what that was." Dean cocked his head caught on the "your kid" piece. He followed Father Lo's glance and twisted to see the original boy from the attack hunched in the shadows, his glittering dark eyes fastened on Dean. "He hasn't eaten, slept, or spoken all day, and he refuses to let you out of sight. He's a bit wild, I'm afraid he broke Virgil's nose."

Dean nodded without looking away from the boy. Dr Cho moved in on him with a role of gauze bandaging and a list of instructions so long Dean wouldn't have been able to remember even if they had been delivered in english. The boy met Dean's scrutiny with an unfathomable certainty that Dean was the only thing keeping him afloat from the very real evil that reached from the depths; echoes of a young Sam haunted Dean.

Dr Cho indicated he was finished with a smack to Dean's chest; leaving Dean cursing his bedside manner. The shirt was a tight fit. The sleeves had to be rolled to stop the cuffs from flapping loose around his forearms, and he was a little uncomfortable with the priestly flash of white bandaging at the v of his open collar, but Bobby's twist on "beggars ain't choosers boy" came to mind. Crap! The second thought of Bobby put a huge crack in the ice of avoidance Dean was treading. He didn't have the luxury to drown in recent events; Mary packing Sam in the car to leave Dean behind in the exhaust. It happened, now man up! Dean mentally barked; compensating with his best John Winchester impersonation.

Tucking the knife out of sight, Dean turned to flirt with his emotional baggage surrounding Sam. Dean had the impression that the kid had had innocence knocked out of him early on. He didn't exhibit any of the signs of shock or denial that Father Lo was dealing with. He stared at Dean like he knew exactly who and what he was. Like Dean was the saving grace this world needed for things to turn out alright. Dean crouched a few steps from the kid to give him space and asked, "Where's your mom?"

"Looking for me," the boy answered edging closer.

"Then what are you doing here?" Dean asked, sensing there was more. The boy stared nervously at Father Lo until the man caught the hint and excused himself from the room, dragging the surly doctor with him. When it was only the two of them, the kid pulled back his upper lip to reveal the retracted fangs, before dropping his eyes to the floor in shame. Dean's throat tightened painfully. An emotional storm built in his eyes and he braced against the threatening rain. "Did you feed?" Dean dragged from the gravel, having difficulty separating this 10 year old from the one he had raised. The boy shook his head no, his head dropping lower. His dark hair fell forward exposing the back of his delicate neck. The knife concealed against Dean's kidney pressed uncomfortably and his hand shook with indecision.

"I can hear it," the boy cried. "your heart… I'm... I don't want to be a monster."

Dean's empty hand came down against the boy's neck. "I won't let that happen," His warm fingers anchoring the boy, his strength a shelter. "This isn't over. I'll get you back where you belong." He pulled the small head into his gravity until they were close. "There's a cure if you haven't fed," The boy looked at Dean from behind a fringe of hair and nodded. Dean struggled to remember the eyes he was locked with where brown rather than green. "But it'll get worse before it gets better." He predicted.

"Awww, if I had a heart, I think it would be touched." Dean spun, his arm tucking the boy safely behind him. A curvy blond in nine inch heels smirked enjoying her disruptive entrance. She held Father Lo's body like a rag doll. The small fist twisting in the shirt at Dean's back put the woman firmly in the "them" category. "Hey sweetie," She said, cocking her head to pitch the greeting around Dean. "Told you I would find you." Behind her a half dozen young boys emerged from the shadow. Dean recognized one from the attack earlier.

"Back for another spanking?" Dean directed to the sanguine youth with a raised brow; two could play this game.

A spark of amusement lit the female's eye. "Copy cat," she whispered. Not the usual hunter response. She dropped the father and sashayed forward, "Not your average pick up line," She purred at Dean, taking a long slow second look. "Funny, you don't look twelve," she mused. Dean levelled a cool look at her communicating he had heard it before. She pouted at the insult. "Ok, I'll bite," She added clearly pleased with her play on words, "What's your name, baby?"

Dean eased the boy's fist from his shirt to the hilt at his waist. He felt the blade slide clean. "Not interested" Dean answered. He pulled both arms out from his sides, empty palms open to show he was unarmed. "Girls have cooties," he explained to her entourage.

"Cute, you going to tug my ponytail next or pass me a note?" She laughed, her lips pursed in anticipation.

"Ladies choice, Sadie Hawkins," Dean eased he and the boy backward toward the wall and it's heavy metal crucifix. "But fair warning, I make all the girls cry."

With a blur, the vampire pinned Dean back against the sheetrock. She caught his glance at the cross above his head and gave him a look of disbelief. "God won't help you, he doesn't even know your name." Dean chuckled at that, her hand shoved too tightly beneath his jaw bone to allow for comment. She leaned in close, the pink tip of her tongue marking his corded neck. She slid her fingers along the top stitching on his shirt's placket; popping buttons with her nails just to watch them bounce and spin across the floor. "You smell delicious," She crooned, pulling his shirt open to admire the fresh bloom of color her touch had left on Dean's bandages.

With a shout, the boy Dean was protecting lashed out with the knife. The vamp released Dean to dodge. Dean reached for the cross and swung the christian icon like an axe. The weight sent the supernatural creature stumbling backward. Dean pushed the kid for the door. The veins around the vampire's eye sockets turned black and it's pupils glowed an unholy red. The fangs extended and it hissed with rage.


	7. Chapter 7

This chapter is dedicated to Carol for her excellent review. I went back and tried to fix the issue with chapter 2 to smooth the transition into the hunt of chapter 3.

1\. "I'm gonna keep getting underneath you." -Panic! At the Disco

A small nose nuzzled the pulse below Sam's ear. Sam groaned and shifted. After a few seconds the soft panting returned and a warm body settled against Sam's shoulder. A flicker of movement and something pawed insistently at his opposite side. Sam's head struggled to reboot. He could feel a sticky trickle of blood matting his hair. The body at his shoulder shifted and a soft tongue lapped at his head, matting his hair further. Sam tried to bat the fuzzy head away but realized his arms were bound. The edge of the duct tape cut the underside of his nose leaving him muzzled. He blinked but the light felt like blades against his eyes. The soft fuzzy mass at his hip licked his side. The snuffling breath tickled, raising goosebumps beneath the soft tongue's path. Sam shifted but the snuffling attention returned. The tongue bath became more insistent until Sam yelped from the nip of teeth. Sam forced himself to squint and found himself looking up into the fuzzy head of a six year old boy. The boy's shy smile was beatific, his pink lips stained dark berry red. Sam felt himself begin to smile back when a sharp tug to his side made him gasp with pain. Another underage boy crawled to sit atop Sam's chest. He peered curiously at Sam before turning his attention to licking his crimson fingers clean.

"Come here Jake," A haggard woman grabbed Sam's elbow beckoning to a tiny boy more bones than body. Nicking the inside of Sam's elbow with a blade she tucked the boy into the bound circle of Sam's arms. The boy wiggled with excitement, making soft grunting noises as he suckled eagerly at Sam's pulse. Realization dawned quickly and Sam bucked and twisted trying to writhe away from the parasites. The boys giggled like it was a great game, enjoying the tussle. The teeth at Sam's hip latched onto bone and growled possessively.

"No!" The woman swatted at the boy. "Maddie, that's no." The fangs released their hold and the boy snapped at the woman. "Don't you give me that!" She countered. "He needs to last." She turned away and the boy redirected his anger at Sam, tearing deep and making Sam howl beneath the duct tape. The vampire's shadowed eyes watched Sam twist and pant with delight. "That's it -Time out!" The woman demanded smacking the back of the boy's head to make him release his dinner. The woman grabbed the boy by the scruff to drag him towards punishment but something unholy lit his eyes. Fast as a snake he twisted and struck, tearing the woman's throat open in wet ropey shreds. Her scream cut short with the loss of her larynx. The boy riding Sam's chest chirped brightly and crawled away to investigate the new feast. Sam could feel the room swivel as his blood levels dropped. He struggled to stay cognizant as the soft slick chorus of feeding creshendoed around him. Sam's skin tingled from poor blood circulation and from a fading distance he heard the clank of loading bay doors.

He watched with surreal disbelief as the Impala slowly rolled into the warehouse. The muscle car's rumble reverberated off the tin corrugation like the thunderous percussive intro to "A Song for the Dead". Sam could feel Baby's heavy purr in his chest. Dean was going to lose it over Vampires driving his car. Sam struggled to swallow past his yearning for his big brother in that moment. The vultures tugging at his flesh stopped as the shadow of the Impala slide past. Dean might be angry enough, or hurt enough, or self-defeated enough to cut himself off from Sam and Mary… but Baby was another matter. The Chevy was Dean's center and seeing her was like a premonition, a promise of rain. The chromed grill heaved over a lip of cement and settled to a halt. The engine cut and the doors protested the exit of her vampiric pay load.

The blond vampire swung up to purvey her domain standing at the Impala's seat of power. She gave a giddy smile and primped her hair in the reflection of Baby's glossy coat. She swung the car keys around her finger like a woman admiring a new engagement ring. A human familiar limped forward eyeing the car. "Ugh," the vampire huffed with disgust at the broken woman. "Where are the other nannies?" The familiar seemed to shrink beneath the vampire's disdain. Her trembling was answer enough and the vampire frowned at the hunters her brood had caught. With a sweet smile to the children she purred, "Did you catch something for me? Cause I caught something for you. Let's see what my boys got me." She swung an ornate crucifix with a bloodied patina at the familiar. "Clean that up. I've decided to keep it." Like a proud mother looking at her child's first lopsided clay pot, she reached for Eileen. The hunter struck back, kicked the blond's legs out from under her and the Vampire retaliated with a sharp backhand that sent Eileen into the wall. "To uppity to be a nanny, but an impressive bag boys." Turning the vampire bent over Linda. "DOA?" she commented with a mischievous glance at the fang boys that had gathered to watch her antics. She grabbed a fistful of Mary's hair. "How about you, any experience with kids?" Mary's glare left the vampire bored. She was about to dismiss the woman when something struck her as familiar. The grip on Mary's hair tightened and the vampire pulled her out into a pool of light. "Why do you look so familiar?" the monster demanded. She glared deep into Mary's eyes but couldn't place the woman. "Hmmm, freckles… it'll come to me," she mused, finally releasing Mary to slump against the ground. "No more snacking on this one until I make a hiring decision," She ordered. She then turned to use her finger to count heads like a soccer mom.

"I've lost 11 of my precious babes," She shrieked. She shook her head and skipped back to the Impala. She swung up onto the trunk of the car and crossed her legs. "I'm done with hired help," She said with a dirty look at the familiar.

"I've… met someone… been a bit impulsive." She smoothed her hair in an imitation of uncertainty. "It's been a few hundred years since I tried anything like this before… but, well I want you to meet your new daddy." She thumped the trunk lid and leaned over it. "Hey handsome, how you doing in there?"

She swung back to the ground and slid the metal key into the lock. The tumbler cycled and the trunk cracked like Pandora's box. There was a momentary pause, while the room was sucked forward in expectation. The explosion caught the head vampire a splitting blow to the chin, snapping her teeth with a crack. Like death himself, Dean surged forward. Bodies fell faster than the natural eye could track; a force of nature amplified by the supernatural poison arcing through his veins.

Rational thought had been trampled beneath a searing thirst he hadn't felt since wearing the mark. Sight, sound, smell, his senses redlined; cutting in and out, leaving him without reference. He couldn't tell up from down, the moment boiled down to the strength of his grip around the blood slick handle of the machete as it shuddered beneath each impact. Dean felt wrong. Pain was the only sensation that hadn't been twisted by the vampire blood that had been forced on him. So he clung to that last vestige of normal; strained towards the sensation of every blow he took like a lover. The vampires hissed and spit as their blood lubricated the gruesome orgy. It was minutes of thrashing before Dean realized his dance partners had stopped keeping step. He sank back against Baby's side; leaving wet streaks against her glossy coat. The material of his shirt and jeans chaffed and strained leaving burns in his skin. At Dean's tap against the car a boy emerged, like a pup emerging from the safety of a den. Wordlessly Dean slung the leader's carcass over the Impala and threw a bucket beneath the chassis to catch the blood. "Bitch," He growled. Dean clutched the Impala's side struggling for a coping mechanism to the impulses boiling over… To hell with restraint, nobody shoves him into his ow TRUNK! With a grunt he spun and punted the vampires head and watched it bounce with a squelch. It took several moments before Dean's jacked senses registered the soft percussive beat of hearts in the room. Dean's stomach growled in giddy excitement and Dean fumbled to control the instinct to feed.

Sam knew the instant Dean's eyes landed on him, but his brother's hesitance to approach put Sam on alert. "Mom!" the boy at Dean's side shouted and leapt to go to Linda's side. Lightning fast, Dean wrapped an arm around the boy and held him aloft. "Crap," Dean muttered. His eyes flicked back to the bloody mess surrounding him and he couldn't find the courage to look his mother in the face. No way hacking up a bunch of 5 to 8 year olds looked good from her vantage point. Dean swallowed, not much he could do about it now. He palmed the handle of his machete and straightened his shoulders like he was wading into the second wave of the battle. He made it five steps in Sam's direction before he realized everything was buzzing; the molecules in the air literally twitching with the inescapable subsonic tone. The boy tucked beneath his arm gasped and went limp. Dean locked his knees and shifted to face the source. Shapes and colors jumped as the pitch increased until light burned out the edges. His head throbbed under the onslaught.

Sam panicked watching Dean collapse to the ground. Sam writhed like a possessed inch worm until he collapsed against Dean's unresponsive side. Cutting himself free with the blade Dean dropped. Sam ripped the tape from his face and shouted for his brother. It took his fingers a few moments to register Dean's manic pulse. He took a controlled breath before taking the plunge and pushing Dean's lip back to reveal retracted fangs; the vamp body slung across Baby; bleeding out into a bucket suddenly made terrible sense. It also gave Sam hope. Sam sent the machete sliding handle first towards Mary so she could free the others. "Dean?" Sam called. He crawled into Dean's personal space looking for clues to what had taken his brother's consciousness.

SNSNSN

A sun soaked air bathed Dean in warmth. The air sang with the joy of spring. "My son," Dean turned into the welcoming deep vibrato. But instead of John Winchester's worn look of approval it was the bottomless intensity of the Alpha vampire. His dark arms were raised, rejoicing to embrace a child thought lost. The visual shifted leaving Dean suddenly at ground zero of a family reunion. Fireflies danced the dusk above a din of laughter. Children darted between the legs of indulgent parents; everything felt colored with an undeniable sense of belonging. The dark haired boy from the church wound his fingers between Dean's with a gap toothed grin. Hand in hand they turned towards the sounds of fireworks. The boy let go to clutch a sparkler and Dean found himself in a dimly lit kitchen. Night had settled and the dusky father figure at the sink held a washed dish out to him. The house felt sleepy but full. Dean accepted the dish and set about drying it. "It's good to see you again Dean," the alpha admitted handing Dean another wet dish. "I'm not staying," Dean challenged making the alpha smile at his spirit. "Whatever you decide. My affection is sincere, just know that you will always be welcomed home."

Dean placed the dry dish on the counter. "I kill your kind," Dean said to deny any association. The alpha turned and held his hands up for display. The moon light played off the blood coating them. "Killing is what connects us." The alpha counselled before the scene changed again. This time Dean was in the driver seat of the Impala. The windows were down and the air was soft against his face. He glanced at the passenger seat and Benny gave him a whisky smooth smile of southern comfort. "It's been a while, brother!" Benny eased back into the leather of the seat and studied the road. "Wouldn't mind if you gave it a spell, I'm feeling a mite nostalgic." Dean draped an arm out the window and opened up the carburetor. "Killing ain't no thing," Benny mused as the Impala surged forward. "Let your boy go have his apple pie life, no shame in letting your mama feather her nest with that. You done your duty." Without turning from the road Dean asked, "It's done?" Without looking he could feel the seat shift with Benny's shrug. "Could be, you babysitting or parenting?"

"Son." The deep affirmation echoed through Dean's head. Tears ran uncontrollably from beneath his eyelids. He ached to follow orders, to be wrapped in the strong arms of a father again. To not be responsible for choosing between crappy options no one wanted to live with. Emotion drowned him and he fought desperately to surface. Daddy's strong little soldier, mother's perfect angel; he knew he didn't add up to either, but was he really any good at parenting either?

"Son" unconditional acceptance drained Dean's conviction like a tapped keg. He suddenly yearned for the unquestionable purpose of purgatory; having nothing more to answer to than the brotherhood of survival; the certainty that you were good at what needed doing because you weren't dead. Dean's eyes open to the soft beckoning flutter of a heart beat beneath warm skin; a promise of home sweet home. Flush with hormones Dean leaned forward, slid his palm beneath the tender pulse point… but the feel of the fangs sliding forward left Dean inexplicably ashamed and he tried to turn away. Sam clutched at Dean without understanding. "Damnit, No means no!" Dean snapped with a violent shove, desperate for distance. But Sam's wounded look had always had the power to break Dean's resolve. Dean fought the compulsion to explain, just as a wave of hunger twisted his gut and his body clenched like a fist. Dean's keening growl of pain set Sam's teeth on edge and helped Sam put together the problem. "Right," Sam answered, "Just hold on". He pushed to his feet to make the dash for the Impala's trunk and the ingredients it stocked for the cure.

Like Dean, Linda's son awoke high on the Alpha's message, more beast than man. He rolled to a crouch without anyone's notice. Like a lion in the grass his eyes tracked the herd moving around him. He tracked Sam's reluctantly turn from Dean to make a desperate play for the spell work in the Impala's trunk. He watched Mary split the duct tape around Eileen's legs and Eileen's distraught dive for his mother's still form. He watched Mary straighten with a look of concern, her uncertainty creating the distance between her and her sons. He watched the unnoticed flicker of movement in the shadows behind Dean's kneeling stance.

The human familiar shook with a palsied rage. Her family, her devotion lay in bloody ruin. For the first time in a decade she couldn't feel the assurance, the connection, the control of her mistress and she could feel her mind unravelling. With fingers that trembled like spider legs she clutched a shard of window pane to her breast. The smell of her own blood brought on a powerful nostalgia for the family she had just lost. Her thoughts howled like a banshee, extreme and chaotic they spun like a cyclone with its central eye fixated on Dean, the man responsible. She took him from behind, sliding the glass edge beneath his jaw line and twisting to ride his chest hard into the floor. Licking her lips, she rocked forward fascinated to watch blood well up beneath her pressure. She could feel his chest shift between her thighs. She hesitated; awed by her own audacity to take something for herself and the moment finished her. Linda's son hurtled her sideways, savaging her like she came with the instructions "shake before opening". Lightning quick Dean grabbed the boy. He came free in an arc of blood, frenzied like a wild thing, all teeth and claws, but Dean held on. "Sam!" Dean's yell communicated the need to hurry.

Sam rushed forward with a mason jar of foul sludge. Eileen waded into the fray and the three of them managed to get most of it into the boy. In delayed reaction the kid deflated before diving sideways retching. Cautiously, Eileen peeled the sick boy from Dean's grip; leaving Dean to confront the second jar Sam held in offering. Dean accepted with the enthusiasm of the condemned. Mary advanced on Dean armed with bandaging for wounds she should have tended days ago. But Sam blocked her before her actions could cause Dean to retreat further. Sam ignored her parental look of disapproval, his focus on his brother's hesitance. Some innate sense warned Sam there were dangerous currents churning beneath Dean's unflappable countenance. "C'mon man," Sam coaxed. "You always take it black. Don't tell me vamp Dean takes his with cream and a double pump of amaretto." Dean huffed appreciating Sam's attempt and tossed the cure back, doing his damndest not to gag. Sam stepped forward reaching for the jar as an excuse to crowd Dean. "Hair of the Dog?" Sam asked, working hard to keep it light.

Dean's eyes met Sam's, "Just waiting for the party to start."

Sam pulled a hefty trash bag from his back pocket and flapped it open. "There's no way you are convincing me that designated driver isn't the better option here," Sam countered. Dean snatched the garbage bag with a bravado that belied the color fleeing his face. "Ass," Dean managed to hiss before bending to other matters.

Sam hooked Dean's shoulder to anchor him, but the violence of Dean's stomach clearing the decks brought them both to their knees. There was no time for Sam to be concerned by smell or sound. Dean was lost to the storm and Sam couldn't do anything more than hold on. It was more visceral than Sam remembered. In his head he struggled not to panic rationalizing the difference was due to Sam's lack of soul the first go round.

Something didn't feel right. "Sam!" Eileen cried in distress. In between heaving the boy hung limp and swinging in her arms; she shifted so the Winchesters could see the ruby hue of the sludge his body was rejecting. It didn't match the oily black Dean was producing. Sam shook his head, too busy to brush away the hair that stuck to the sweat on his brow. "I followed the directions exactly," he panted. But in his head he questioned himself, realizing Samuel had mixed it last time while he had watched in detached interest.

Mary looked surprised. She had heard talk about a cure, but never witnessed it. "You've seen this before?" She asked.

Sam's eyes looked haunted, telling her more than his words. "A few hours in the bathroom and Dean wouldn't admit it but he had no appetite or energy for about a week."

"Dean's…?" Done this before, Mary realized with horror. "Sam!" Her desperation was contagious catching Dean's awareness. "Easy diet," Dean shrugged off. Sam twisted his fingers into the back of Dean's shirt; leverage against Dean's attempt to stand on his own.

Wiping his face against his sleeve Dean fought another wave to add, "too much pie… anyway."

"You think this is a game!" Mary was so furious she grabbed Dean, completely unprepared for the way his weight swung free.

The fall would have been painful if Sam hadn't reacted. He grabbed Mary's arm and with a twist redirected her momentum back onto her feet while he did his best to slow his brother's weight. They landed in a tangle, Sam jumped to take his weight off Dean's bandaged chest, but Dean had more pressing concerns, fumbling to get the Hefty bag open. Sam turned on Mary like the hunter he had been trained to be. His eyes intent and his expressive face challenging. Mary grabbed his collar, closing the space between them. "It's cumulative," she breathed. "That's why the cure won't work if you've fed. The poison is cumulative." The reflexive clench of Sam's grip was his only tell. His eyes were hard, unrelenting and Mary realized, if pushed Sam was just as deadly and capable as his brother. "I'm fine," Dean declared breaking up the standoff, shaking Sam free to go focus on the boy.

With a glare of warning at his mother Sam turned to help Eileen. The boy was pale and panting. His skin had a dry, monotone quality like skin in a morgue. "It's ok, Jamie. It's going to be fine." Eileen chanted to the boy, rubbing his back. But the fear in the look she sent Sam made her words fiction.

SNSNSNSN

Three in the morning was an unnatural time to be trying to move the world. Sam drove the impala with one hand. The windows were open despite the chill in a desperate bid to escape the smoky lingering traces of Linda and her son's funeral pyre. Sam had allowed Dean his autonomy until the embers had died and Dean's final bout of dry heaves had left him too spent to climb up off the dirt. None of the survivors spoke as they rushed to put the tragedy in the Impala's rear view mirror. Sam had gone alpha male over Dean trying to seclude himself in the back of the Impala. Sam had gotten his way but it worried him how easily the battle had been won. After Dean succumbed to sleep against the passenger window Sam had tugged his brother down to lay against the bench seat. The heater was cranked to max and Sam kept his free hand curled over Dean's shoulder to keep his brother's head against his thigh, where he could feel his brother quiver with life without looking. Mary held an opened bottle of Gatorade over the seat back for Sam. Sam glanced to ensure Dean was out before accepting the offering.

"Dizzy?" Mary asked, draping her arms over the seat back. Sam glanced in the mirror on the windshield and found Eileen's eyes on him. "This helps," he avoided. There was a rustle and Eileen handed an energy bar to Mary who unwrapped it for her son. Sam gave her a tight smile and accepted. The sugar would help combat the effects of blood loss. Mary reached forward to brush her fingertips through the short bristle of Dean's hair. Sam couldn't help the possessive impulse to bat her hand away. The sentiment must have shown on his face because Mary pulled her hand back with a frustrated look. "Verbalize Sam," She commanded. "The attitude isn't working for you."

"He needs rest." Sam answered throwing her a superior look.

Mary shook her head knowing it wasn't that simple. "You're touching him," She argued back.

Dean gave a soft groan, that had sounded so wrong. "If you two don't cut it out I'm turning this car around." He grumbled softly.

Sam managed to suppress his smile, Mary wasn't as successful. "I think that was supposed to be my line." She replied pleased that Dean seemed to be doing better.

Without opening his eyes, Dean sighed theatrically, "Are we there yet?"

SNSNSNSN

Dean reached for the outer door of the bunker and realized too late that he had picked up a tail. Taking a steadying breath Dean turned to confront his brother with a raised eyebrow. Sam stopped short, "Uh," he floundered. "You going out?" Dean gave Sam an unamused look before turning to head out the door. Sam grabbed Dean's arm, "No, I mean wait for me."

"Sam!" Dean growled warning his brother that he wasn't going to have another conversation on the topic of how he was feeling. He was headed out the door to run six miles exactly so he wouldn't be able to feel anything past exhaustion.

"C'mon," Sam stalled trying to draw the correct conclusions from Dean's attire that would grant him a pass to stick to Dean's side. Sweats, a frayed hoodie, and sneakers… "Conditioning! Weren't you telling me to stop draggin ass?" Sam grasped, "I'll be ready in five."

Dean gave Sam a flat "you aren't kidding anyone" look, but his brother's big hand hadn't let go. "I'm walking out the door in two," Dean gave. Sam nodded, his hair flopping in his enthusiasm. Dean cocked his head but it took Sam another moment before he realized the timer had started. "Oh," Sam started. He spun and sprinted down the stairs for his room.

Dean's ratty sneakers struggled to keep the steady rhythm against the asphalt. His lungs wheezed and stuttered playing catch up. His focus had narrowed to an internal stream of encouragement that his father's drill master would have been impressed with. He pushed past the mile marker and let his body coast to a halt. "Thank heaven" Sam exhaled slowing and bending forward to catch his breath in Dean's wake. Frost crusted leaves crunched as Dean drifted to a roadside Beech tree to wait out his internal organ's battle for use of his esophagus. Nausea had become a standard and Dean wasn't going to advertise unless forced.

Sam moved through Dean's shadow to collapse at the tree's base. The run had been brutal and internally Sam was trying to decipher why his brother had felt the need to punish himself like this. He glanced up at Dean's profile a moment, assessing his brother's health before tugging sharply on the hem of Dean's hoodie. Dean leveled him a warning look but obeyed the request to sit. There was so much Sam wanted to fill the silence with… But he couldn't figure out an angle that would actually net what he wanted. Sensing the direction of Sam's interest Dean decided to head them a different direction. "Kansas State?"

Sam jumped at the bait, "The online class interaction is asynchronous, so if there's a hunt, we can meet the class requirements around the job." Dean didn't respond, so Sam continued, "I like Brown's online program too… but it's expensive." Sam turned when Dean didn't engage when Sam gave him the opportunity. "What did you like?" Dean just shook his head and dropped it into the privacy of his hand. "I can't do this without you," Sam said. But the immediate tensing in the set of Dean's shoulders had Sam realizing that his brother hadn't forgotten the points Sam had made by leaving for Stanford. Dean pushed to his feet and Sam back pedaled, "I mean… " Sam cursed and grabbed Dean by the shoulder. He was exhausted from chasing his brother for the last six miles and felt desperate to explain himself before Dean put another six on the speedometer. "Just hear me out, as a criminal lawyer I could help people like us. Hunters who end up on the wrong side of the law because of the good we do. But to be successful I need you to get certified as a detective." Dean gave Sam a look of disbelief. "I don't trust anyone else," Sam pleaded.

Dean smacked Sam's hand away and put an extra step between them. But he could feel himself caught in that little brother emotional tractor beam. "I'm not going to be your…"Dean fell silent, he didn't have time for private dick jokes. He needed to figure a way out before Sam found his way in and saw how truly wrecked Dean was. This wasn't just another job gone wrong; another kid and mother dead because he wasn't good enough. His mother didn't approve of him, confirming pretty much every self-doubt he had ever suspected about himself and now Sam was trying to get him to grab an olive branch Dean knew for a fact would burn to ash in his hand. His social popping up on the grid was sure to bring flashing blue and red lights accompanied by drawn guns. And he sure as hell didn't want to find out there were loop holes that would allow a fake ID to qualify for the type of background check law enforcement would give to a detective certification accompanied by a concealed gun license. Never mind that you put anyone in a room of law enforcement types, over eager to prove themselves and even super man would get nailed with indecent exposure or illegal use of public property. In the end it came back to the point that when he went down, the fallout would ruin Sam and his mother's chances. He belonged with the very things he risked everything to eliminate. Suddenly Dean lost the battle with his stomach and he bent over to empty what little he had in the tank.

Sam rushed forward getting far too handsy for Dean's comfort. Dean exploded shoving his brother back and stumbling over the lip of the asphalt road. Spitting to clear the taste from his mouth he growled, "No… Just No! I can't…"

"Dean," Sam interrupted staring at the vomit. "You're not ok. This," His brother gestured at the mess, "This is not OK! You should have been over this days ago, are you..."

"Focus, Sammy." Dean ordered. "School was never my deal, just… Let this be a you and mom deal. I don't need to be involved."

"Are you feeling any… cravings?" Sam demanded.

Dean's laugh had a self-destructive undercurrent. "Why are you out here Sam?" Sam's face telegraphed that he had been taken off guard. He looked at Dean like he might just be wishing he had a flask of holy water to ensure he was still talking to his brother. "I may not be the egg head you and Mom want, but I'm not the village idiot. What exactly is so wrong that you can't even let me go for a run." Sam blinked a mixture of surprise and indignation wrestling for supremacy. "It's not all about YOU Dean!"

Dean nodded. "Fine, then set me straight." The dismissive response set Sam in motion. A vicious right hook and Dean was flat on his back before Sam realized he had thrown the punch. "Oh," Sam gasped appalled that he had just clocked his ill brother. Dean carefully touched the bruise forming on his jaw before collapsing flat on his back. Sam watched his brother shake, laid out flat in the middle of the road. "Dean?" he called glancing nervously to ensure the country road was still empty. Dean gasped and a giggle bubbled up. "Are you… Laughing?" Sam asked inching closer. Sam couldn't believe it, his brother was laughing, laying in the center of a road in the middle of nowhere.

"Damn," Dean crowed. "Dad's sure as hell looking down right now and damn proud of you Sammy. No one put's Baby inna corner." Dean slurred. Sam shook his head with disbelief, unable to suppress the warmth Dean's compliment lit him with. "Such an idiot!" Sam huffed. He lent down and grabbed his brother's arm to help him back to his feet. "There is something very wrong with you!" Sam sighed.

Dean's nod seemed to answer no doubt. Sam stared at his brother, the oddest combination of frat boy BFF, mother, father, and small town hero; Dean defied stereotype. "Fine," Dean said giving Sam's chest a solid smack. "Fine?" Sam repeated, thinking the word had never been so unspecific.

"Yeah," Dean agreed with a shrug. Sam frowned trying to understand where in the conversation they were. Dean certainly wasn't fine, but this fine didn't seem to refer to that fine, so... "You'll enroll in college?" Sam deduced.

"You're right, we've faced worst odds. So who am I to be the voice of reason,"Dean relented walking away in the direction of the bunker. "What do they say about having to take care of your parents?" Sam thought, throwing his hands in the air. He noticed Dean was listing slightly and jogged to catch up, grabbing Dean's shoulder to steady him. "Jerk!" Sam huffed. No way was Sam going to entrust his brother's keeping to anyone else. It was his duty to screw up.

Dean chuckled, "Bitch."

Sam smiled at Dean's worn but easy response. The tone clueing Sam in on what care instructions he was going to follow when they got back. Dean carefully rubbed at the tender spot Sam had given him. "You realize," He added conversationally. "You decided to tag along for PE with your big bro rather than spend quality face time with Eileen's hot ass… That's messed up man. Someone didn't raise you right."

"Don't come to me for stitching up if Eileen catches you referring to her like that. Keep in mind there's no such thing as out of hearing distance with her." Sam's good humor dimmed. "You know… she slipped and called me John."

"Eileen?" Dean asked for clarification.

"No!", Sam said with alarm. "Mom."

"Guess you should reset your facebook status to complicated." Dean shot back.

Sam grinned, "You realize you just admitted to knowing how to use social media, right? Isn't that going to ruin your reputation or something?" He loved it when Dean slipped up and proved himself to be more intelligent than the broads and beers persona he projected.

"I can see it," Dean admitted. Giving Sam the compliment easily; leaving Sam at a loss for how to respond.

"Uhh, If I'm so much like Dad, when are you going to start following my orders?" Dean shoved his brother and sped up. "What? No witty come back?" Sam teased trotting behind his brother.

SPSPSP

And this last scene is for timetowaste247

Mary paced ten steps then returned to crack the oven to check for color. She popped the door closed and grabbed the packaging to study the picture. Maybe another 5, she muttered trying not to overthink what she was doing. She shook her hands out nervously. She couldn't recall the last time she was this jittery before a hunt. Not that this was comparable… She cracked the door again, feeling the heat against her face. Good enough she decided, grabbing a mitt. She pulled the take'n bake pie and set it atop a cutting board. The crust had cracked allowing sweet red to bubble over the lip on one side. Mary sighed, she felt just as out of her league as she had with John. She could smelt silver for a bullet or salt and burn a body without batting an eye, but making a home cooked meal? What a laugh! She smiled remembering the ridiculous extremes John had gone to to fake enjoy her "home cooking". Her favorite was probably the time he had seduced her on the dining table as an excuse to sweep that horrid casserole onto the floor before it poisoned them both. She counted herself lucky he was too besotted to let her lack of susie home maker skills deter him. Carefully she cut a wedge and managed to lever it onto a plate. Grabbing a fork, she went in search of her son.

Walking down the tiled corridor to the bedrooms Sam burst from his just as she was passing. With a startled yip he managed to right the plate before the slice ended up plastered to either of their chests. Both of them froze, staring at each other as the shock of the near miss wore off. "Um," Mary frowned glancing at the plate that Sam now held. "Pie?" she offered, looking back into his face with a difficult uncertainty. Sam's eyes widened, realizing what he had just disrupted. "No," he gasped, shoving the plate back into her hands. He hopped back, half turned, then paused. "I mean…" he pointed a finger at Mary's peace offering. "That will work," he offered her a bit of confidence before beating a hasty retreat, failing to hid the delight that left him smiling.

Mary hesitated at Dean's closed door, feeling ridiculous. Hadn't she pledged to herself that she would try to start treating him like an adult? She sighed and took a deep breath. Besides, pie had been John and his mother's thing. She had been desperate enough to try using it as a way to lure John back to the family table when things had gotten difficult between them. However, her four year old's sweet tooth hadn't complained even on the nights that the pie ploy hadn't worked to draw John out. Mary had to start somewhere. Gently she knocked before entering.

Dean looked up from his thoughts to see his mother. Shoving the skin mag he had tried to distract himself with beneath his pillow he slid off his bed. Quickly he brushed a few wrinkles in the bed cover out and gave his room a quick once over for any other contraband he should shuffle out of sight. "Mom?"

Mary smiled tentatively. "Do you still like cherry pie?" She asked holding her peace offering to him.

"You made me pie?" He whispered, taking the plate like it held mana.

As he took a reverent bite Mary glanced around the neatly kept room. She was a little surprised at herself that she hadn't ventured in here yet. "Looks like your dad taught you how to make your bed," She commented, noticing the crisp tucked corners. She turned to find Dean staring at her with timid adoration; déjà vu of a four year old who had just come off five minutes time out. The look had her opening her arms before she thought through the gesture.

Dean stepped into the hug, the pie abandoned on his desk. Her arms collapsed around him and heaven help him, it was just as he remembered. The strength, one arm wrapped around his chest, the other cradling his head. Her fingers caressing the curved base of his head, her warm breath teasing the nape of his neck… He couldn't move afraid he might crush the dream.

"It's ok, Baby," Mary crooned feeling a tremor rattle Dean's core. "I'm here," She promised. She brushed her fingers over the top of his hair surprised by the softness. "I still love you."

SPSPSP

So, that's the last stanza of the song. This was my first song fic. This chapter was difficult to write. I had a happy version, an agsty version but ended up feeling like I needed to stay in the horror genre. Did it work?

Feed the starving artist and leave a review!


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